Thus arranged, they all started off.  And now, since they are all fairly under way, I propose to introduce them, individually and collectively, to my very good friend the reader.

First of all I must mention the fact that the party consisted chiefly of ladies and their attendants.

Of these the most prominent was a slim, tall, elderly lady, with large, dark, soft eyes, that spoke of a vanished youth and beauty from her heavily wrinkled face.  She was the Dowager Lady Dalrymple, and acted toward the rest of the party in the multifarious capacity of chaperon, general, courier, guide, philosopher, friend, and Mentor.

Next came Mrs. Willoughby, a widow of great beauty and fascination, a brunette, good-natured, clever, and shrewd.  I might here pause, and go into no end of raptures on the various qualities of this lady’s character; but, on the whole, I think I’d better not, as they will be sufficiently apparent before the end of this story is reached.

Then there was Miss Minnie Fay, sister to Mrs. Willoughby, and utterly unlike her in every respect.  Minnie was a blonde, with blue eyes, golden hair cut short and clustering about her little head, little bit of a mouth, with very red, plump lips, and very white teeth.  Minnie was very small, and very elegant in shape, in gesture, in dress, in every attitude and every movement.  The most striking thing about her, however, was the expression of her eyes and her face.  There was about her brow the glory of perfect innocence.  Her eyes had a glance of unfathomable melancholy, mingled with childlike trust in the particular person upon whom her gaze was fastened.  Minnie was considered by all her friends as a child—­was treated as a child—­humored, petted, coaxed, indulged, and talked to as a child.  Minnie, on her part, thought, spoke, lived, moved, and acted as a child.  She fretted, she teased, she pouted, she cried, she did every thing as a child does; and thus carried up to the age of eighteen the bloom and charm of eight.

The two sisters were nieces of the Dowager Lady Dalrymple.  Another niece also accompanied them, who was a cousin of the two sisters.  This was Miss Ethel Orne, a young lady who had flourished through a London season, and had refused any number of brilliant offers.  She was a brunette, with most wonderful dark eyes, figure of perfect grace, and an expression of grave self-poise that awed the butterflies of fashion, but offered an irresistible attraction to people of sense, intellect, intelligence, esprit, and all that sort of thing—­like you and me, my boy.

I am taking up too much time and anticipating somewhat, I fear, by these descriptions; so let us drop Miss Ethel.

These ladies being thus all related formed a family party, and had made the journey thus far on the best of terms, without any other escort than that which was afforded by their chaperon, general, courier, guide, philosopher, friend, and Mentor—­the Dowager Lady Dalrymple.