Glastonbury sent up his name he was instantly admitted, and ushered
up stairs. The room was full, but it consisted only of a family party.
The mother of the Duke, who was an interesting personage, with fine
grey hair, a clear blue eye, and a soft voice, was surrounded by her
great-grandchildren, who were at home for the Midsummer holidays, and
who had gathered together at her rooms this morning to consult upon
amusements. Among them was the heir presumptive of the house, a youth
of the age of Ferdinand, and of a prepossessing appearance. It was
difficult to meet a more amiable and agreeable family, and nothing could
exceed the kindness with which they all welcomed Glastonbury. The Duke
himself soon appeared. 'My dear, dear Glastonbury,' he said, 'I heard
you were here, and I would come. This shall be a holiday for us all.
Why, man, you bury yourself alive!'

'Mr. Armine,' said the Duchess, pointing to Ferdinand.

'Mr. Armine, how do you do? Your grandfather and I were well acquainted.
I am glad to know his grandson. I hope your father, Sir Ratcliffe, and
Lady Armine are well. My dear Glastonbury, I hope you have come to
stay a long time. You must dine with us every day. You know we are very
old-fashioned people; we do not go much into the world; so you will
always find us at home, and we will do what we can to amuse your young
friend. Why, I should think he was about the same age as Digby? Is he at
Eton? His grandfather was. I shall never forget the time he cut off old
Barnard's pig-tail. He was a wonderful man, poor Sir Ferdinand! he was
indeed.'

While his Grace and Glastonbury maintained their conversation, Ferdinand
conducted himself with so much spirit and propriety towards the rest of
the party, and gave them such a lively and graceful narrative of all his
travels up to town, and the wonders he had already witnessed, that they
were quite delighted with him; and, in short, from this moment, during
his visit to London he was scarcely ever out of their society, and every
day became a greater favourite with them. His letters to his mother, for
he wrote to her almost every day, recounted all their successful efforts
for his amusement, and it seemed that he passed his mornings in a round
of sight-seeing, and that he went to the play every night of his life.
Perhaps there never existed a human being who at this moment more
thoroughly enjoyed life than Ferdinand Armine.

In the meantime, while he thought only of amuse