“Oh!  Mother!” and “Really!” gasped Emily and Mary.

“Have we seen her?”

“Do we know her?”

“No, I think we can none of us have seen her.  She certainly was not with Mr. Markrute at Cowes, and no one has been in town, except this last week for Flora’s wedding.  I suppose Tristram must have met her in Scotland, or possibly abroad.  He went to Paris, you remember, at Easter, and again in July.”

“I wonder what she is like,” said Emily.

“Is she young?” asked Mary.

“Tristram does not say,” replied Lady Tancred, “only that she is beautiful.”

“We are so surprised,” both girls gasped together.

“Yes, it is unexpected, certainly,” agreed their mother, “but Tristram has judgment; he is not likely to have chosen any one of whom I should disapprove.  You must be ready to call with me, directly after lunch.  Tristram is coming to breakfast, so you can have yours now—­in your room.  I must talk to him.”

And the girls, who were dying to ask a hundred thousand questions, felt that they were dismissed, and, kissing their dignified parent, they retired to their own large, back room, which they shared, in common with all their pleasures and little griefs, together.

“Isn’t it too wonderful, Em?” Mary said, when they were back there, both curled up in the former’s bed waiting for their breakfast.  “One can see Mother is very much moved; she was so stern.  I thought Tristram was devoted to Laura Highford, did not you?”

“Oh! he has been sick of that for ages and ages.  She nags at him—­she is a cat anyway and I never could understand it, could you, Mary?”

“Men have to be like that,” said Mary, wisely, “they must have some one, I mean, to play with, and they are afraid of girls.”

“How I hope she will like us, don’t you?” Emily said.  “Mr. Markrute is very rich and perhaps she is, too.  How lovely it will be if they are able to live at Wrayth.  How lovely to have it opened again—­to go and stay there!”

“Yes, indeed,” said Mary.

Lady Tancred awaited her son in the small front morning-room.  She was quite as much a specimen of an English aristocrat as he was, with her brushed-back, gray hair, and her beautiful, hard, fine-featured face.  She was supremely dignified, and dressed well and with care.  She had been brought up in the school which taught the repression of all emotion—­now, alas! rapidly passing away—­so that she did not even tap her foot from the impatience which was devouring her, and it was nearly eleven o’clock before Tristram made his appearance!

He apologized charmingly, and kissed her cheek.  His horse, Satan, had been particularly fresh, and he had been obliged to give him an extra canter twice round the Row, before coming in, and was breakfast ready?—­as he was extremely hungry!  Yes, breakfast was ready, and they went into the dining-room where the old butler awaited them.