wound through a pleasant little park, less extensive,
perhaps, than the visitor had preconceived it, and circled in front of
a plain Georgian mansion, which, again, caused some disappointment.
Dyce had learnt from the directory that the house was not very old, but
it was spoken of as "stately;" the edifice before him he would rather
have described as "commodious." He caught a glimpse of beautiful
gardens, and had no time to criticise any more, for the fly stopped and
the moment of his adventure was at hand. When he had mechanically paid
and dismissed the driver, the folding doors stood open before him; a
man-servant, with back at the reverent angle, on hearing his name at
once begged him to enter. Considerably more nervous than he would have
thought likely, and proportionately annoyed with himself, Dyce passed
through a bare, lofty hall, then through a long library, and was
ushered into a room so largely constructed of glass, and containing so
much verdure, that at first glance it seemed to be a conservatory. It
was, however, a drawing-room, converted to this purpose after having
served, during the late Baronet's lifetime, for such masculine delights
as billiards and smoking. Here, as soon as his vision focussed itself,
Dyce became aware of three ladies and a gentleman, seated amid a little
bower of plants and shrubs. The hostess was easily distinguished. In a
very high-backed chair, made rather throne-like by the embroidery and
gilding upon it, sat a meagre lady clad in black silk, with a silvery
grey shawl about her shoulders, and an other of the same kind across
her knees. She had the aspect of extreme age and of out-worn health;
the skin of her face was like shrivelled parchment; her hands were mere
skin and bone; she sat as though on the point of sinking across the arm
of her chair for very feebleness. But in the whitish-yellow visage
shone a pair of eyes which had by no means lost their vitality; so keen
were they, so darkly lustrous, that to meet them was to forget every
other peculiarity of Lady Ogram's person. Regarding the eyes alone, one
seemed to have the vision of a handsome countenance, with proud lips,
and carelessly defiant smile. The illusion was aided by a crown of hair
such as no woman of Lady Ogram's age ever did, or possibly could,
possess in her own right; hair of magnificent abundance, of rich auburn
hue, plaited and rolled into an elaborate coiffure.

Before this singular figure, Dyce Lashmar pau