flowers; her mother taught her religion. Sitting
in the pew every Sunday morning, the child of six
was seen listening in rapt attention to the clergyman’s
endless sermon, for she was to be examined upon it
in the afternoon. The Duchess was determined
that her daughter, from the earliest possible moment,
should be prepared for her high station in a way that
would commend itself to the most respectable; her good,
plain, thrifty German mind recoiled with horror and
amazement from the shameless junketings at Carlton
House; Drina should never be allowed to forget for
a moment the virtues of simplicity, regularity, propriety,
and devotion. The little girl, however, was really
in small need of such lessons, for she was naturally
simple and orderly, she was pious without difficulty,
and her sense of propriety was keen. She understood
very well the niceties of her own position. When,
a child of six, Lady Jane Ellice was taken by her
grandmother to Kensington Palace, she was put to play
with the Princess Victoria, who was the same age as
herself. The young visitor, ignorant of etiquette,
began to make free with the toys on the floor, in
a way which was a little too familiar; but “You
must not touch those,” she was quickly told,
“they are mine; and I may call you Jane, but
you must not call me Victoria.” The Princess’s
most constant playmate was Victoire, the daughter
of Sir John Conroy, the Duchess’s major-domo.
The two girls were very fond of one another; they
would walk hand in hand together in Kensington Gardens.
But little Drina was perfectly aware for which of
them it was that they were followed, at a respectful
distance, by a gigantic scarlet flunkey.
Warm-hearted, responsive, she loved her dear Lehzen,
and she loved her dear Feodora, and her dear Victoire,
and her dear Madame de Spath. And her dear Mamma,
of course, she loved her too; it was her duty; and
yet—she could not tell why it was—she
was always happier when she was staying with her Uncle
Leopold at Claremont. There old Mrs. Louis, who,
years ago, had waited on her Cousin Charlotte, petted
her to her heart’s content; and her uncle himself
was wonderfully kind to her, talking to her seriously
and gently, almost as if she were a grown-up person.
She and Feodora invariably wept when the too-short
visit was over, and they were obliged to return to
the dutiful monotony, and the affectionate supervision
of Kensington. But sometimes when her mother had
to stay at home, she was allowed to go out driving
all alone with her dear Feodora and her dear Lehzen,
and she could talk and look as she liked, and it was
very delightful.