“Dear Aunt Grizzy would certainly have been in tears these two days, fancying the thousand deaths Lord Lindore must have died; and Aunt Jacky would have been inveighing from morning till night against the irregularities of young men.  And Aunt Nicky would have been lamenting that the black cock had been roasted yesterday, or that there would be no fish for to-morrow.”  And the result of Mary’s comparison was, that her aunts’ feelings, however troublesome, were better than no feelings at all.  “They are, to be sure, something like brambles,” thought she; “they fasten upon one in every possible way, but still they are better than the faded exotics of fashionable life.”

At last, on the third day, when dinner was nearly over, and Dr. Redgill was about to remark for the third time, “I think it’s as well we didn’t wait for Lord Lindore,” the door opened, and, without warning or bustle, Lord Lindore walked calmly into the room.

Lady Emily, uttering an exclamation of joy, threw herself into his arms.  Lord Courtland was roused to something like animation, as he cordially shook hands with his son; Lady Juliana flew into raptures at the beauty of his Italian greyhound; Adelaide, at the first glance, decided that her cousin was worthy of falling in love with her; Mary thought on the happiness of the family reunion; and Dr. Redgill offered up a silent thanksgiving that this fracas had not happened ten minutes sooner, otherwise the woodcocks would have been as cold as death.  Chairs were placed by the officious attendants in every possible direction; and the discarded first course was threatening to displace the third.  But Lord Lindore seemed quite insensible to all these attentions; he stood surveying the company with a nonchalance that had nothing of rudeness in it, but seemed merely the result of high-bred ease.  His eye, for a moment, rested upon Adelaide.  He then slightly bowed and smiled, as in recognition of their juvenile acquaintance.

“I really can’t recommend either the turtle soup or the venison to your Lordship to-day,” said Dr. Redgill, who experienced certain uneasy sensations at the idea of beholding them resume their stations, something resembling those which Macbeth testified at sight of Banquo’s ghost, or Hamlet on contemplating Yorick’s skull—­“after travelling, there is nothing like a light dinner; allow me to recommend this prretty, leettle cuisse de poulet en papillote; and here are some fascinating beignets d’abricots—­quite foreign.”

“If there is any roast beef or boiled mutton to be had, pray let me have it,” said Lord Lindore, waving off the zealous maitre d’hotel, as he kept placing dish after dish before him.

“Roast beef, or boiled mutton!” ejaculated the Doctor, with a sort of internal convulsion; “he is certainly mad.”

“How did you contrive to arrive without being heard by me, Frederick?” asked Lady Emily; “my ears have been wide open these two days and three nights watching your approach?”