Grandmamma was sitting as usual in her chair.  She does not have to fluster in, buttoning her cuff, when people call.

“Mr. Gurrage wishes to see you, grandmamma,” I said, as I kissed her hand, and then I left them to take off my hat and I did not come down again until I heard the front door shut.

“That is a terrible young man, Ambrosine,” grandmamma said, when I did return to the drawing-room.  “How could you encourage him to walk back with you?”

“Indeed, grandmamma, I did not wish him to come; he did not even ask my leave; he just walked beside me.”

“Well, well,” grandmamma said, and she raised my face in her hands.  I was sitting on a low stool so as to get the last of the light for my embroidery.  She pushed the hair back from my forehead—­I wear it brushed up like Ambrosine Eustasie de Calincourt—­and she looked and looked into my eyes.  If possible there was something pained and wistful in her face.  “My beautiful Ambrosine,” she said, and that was all.  I felt I was blushing all over my cheeks.  “Beautiful Ambrosine.”  Then it must be true if grandmamma said it.  I had often thought so—­perhaps—­myself, but I was not sure if other people might think so too.

* * * * *

It is six weeks now since the Gurrages returned, and constantly, oh! but constantly has that young man come across my path.  I think I grow to dislike him more as time goes on.  He is so persistent and thick of ideas, and he always does things in the wrong place.  I feel afraid to go for my walks, as he seems to be loitering about.  I sneak out of the back door and choose the most secluded lanes, but it does not matter; he somehow turns up.  Certainly three times a week do I have to put up with his company in one way or another.  It is a perfect insult to think of such a person as an admirer, and I annihilated Hephzibah, who had the impertinence to suggest such a thing to me when she was brushing my hair a few days ago.  The ball is coming off, but grandmamma has not seemed very well lately.  It is nothing much, just a bluish look round her mouth, but I fear perhaps she will not be fit to go.  When the invitation came—­brought down by Mrs. Gurrage in person—­grandmamma said she never allowed me to go out without herself, but she would be very pleased to take me.  I was perfectly thunderstruck when I heard her say it.  She—­grandmamma—­going out at night!  It was so good of her, and when I thanked her afterwards, all she said was, “I seldom do things without a reason, Ambrosine.”

Oh, the delight in getting my dress!  We hired the fly from the Crown and Sceptre and Hephzibah drove with me into Tilchester with a list of things to get, written out by grandmamma—­these were only the small etceteras; the dress itself is to come from Paris!  I was frightened almost at the dreadful expense, but grandmamma would hear nothing from me.  “My granddaughter does not go to her first ball arrayed like a provinciale,” she told me.  I do not know what it is to be, she did not consult me, but I feel all jumping with excitement when I think of it.  Only four days more before the ball, and the box from Paris is coming to-morrow.