In the next moment she was in the extended arms of Clara.  After pressing each other to their bosoms for a few moments in silence, Emily looked up, with a tear glistening in her eye, and first noticed the form of Denbigh, who was modestly withdrawing, as if unwilling to intrude on such pure and domestic feelings as the sisters were betraying, unconscious of the presence of a witness.  Mrs. Wilson and Jane, followed by Miss Chatterton, now entered, and cordial salutes and greetings flowed upon Clara from her various friends.

The baronet’s coach reached the door; it contained himself and wife, Mr. Benfield, and Lady Chatterton.  Clara stood on the portico of the building, ready to receive them; her face all smiles, and tears, and blushes, and her arm locked in that of Emily.

“I wish you joy of your new abode, Mrs. Francis.”  Lady Moseley forgot her form, and bursting into tears, she pressed her daughter with ardor to her bosom.

“Clara, my love!” said the baronet, hastily wiping his eyes, and succeeding his wife in the embrace of their child.  He kissed her, and, pressing Francis by the hand, walked into the house in silence.

“Well, well,” cried the dowager, as she saluted her cousin, “all looks comfortable and genteel here, upon my word, Mrs. Ives:  grapery—­ hot-houses—­everything in good style too; and Sir Edward tells me the living is worth a good five hundred a year.”

“So, girl, I suppose you expect a kiss,” said Mr. Benfield who ascended the steps slowly, and with difficulty.  “Kissing has gone much out of fashion lately.  I remember, on the marriage of my friend, Lord Gosford, in the year fifty-eight, that all the maids and attendants were properly saluted in order.  The lady Juliana was quite young then; not more than fifteen:  it was there I got my first salute from her—­but—­so—­kiss me.”  After which he continued, as they went into the house, “Marrying in that day was a serious business.  You might visit a lady a dozen times before you could get a sight of her naked hand.  Who’s that?” stopping short, and looking earnestly at Denbigh, who now approached them.

“Mr. Denbigh, sir,” said Clara, “my uncle, Mr. Benfield.”

“Did you ever know, sir, a gentleman of your name, who sat in the parliament of this realm in the year sixty?” Mr. Benfield abruptly asked, as soon as the civilities of the introduction were exchanged.  “You don’t look much like him.”

“That was rather before my day, sir,” said Denbigh, with a smile, respectfully offering-to relieve Clara, who supported him on one side, while Emily held his arm on the other.

The old gentleman was particularly averse to strangers, and Emily was in terror lest he should say something rude; but, after examining Denbigh again from head to foot, he took the offered arm, and coolly replied—­