Of course I did not mention then again—­equally of course I did not think less of this mysterious kind of beings.

My beautiful mother was very happy with her husband, Sir Roland—­she loved him exceedingly, and he was devoted to her.  The other ladies said he spoiled her, he was so attentive, so devoted, so kind.  I have met with every variety of species which puzzled my childish mind, but none so perfect as he was then.

“You do not know what trouble means, dear Lady Tayne.”  “With a husband like yours, life is all sunshine.”  “You have been spoiled with kindness!”

All these exclamations I used to hear, until I became quite sure that my father was the best husband in the world.

On my tenth birthday my father would have a large ball, and he insisted that I should be present at it.  My mother half hesitated, but he insisted; so, thanks to him, I have one perfectly happy memory.  I thought far more of my beautiful mother than myself.  I stood in the hall, watching her as she came down the great staircase, great waves of shining silk and trailing laces making her train, diamonds gleaming in her golden hair, her white neck and arms bare; so tall, slender and stately, like the picture of some lovely young queen.  Papa and I stood together watching her.

“Let me kiss her first!” I cried, running to her.

“Mind the lace and diamonds, Laura,” he cried.

“Never mind either, my darling,” she said laughingly.  “One kiss from you is worth more than all.”

Sir Roland kissed her and stood looking at her with admiring eyes.

“Do you know, Beatrice,” he said, “that you grow younger and more beautiful?  It is dead swindle!  I shall be a gray-bearded old man by the time you have grown quite young again.”

My sweet mother! she evidently enjoyed his praise; she touched his face with her pretty hand.

“Old or young, Roland,” she said, lovingly, “my heart will never change in its great love for you.”

They did not know how intensely I appreciated this little scene.

“Here is a good husband,” I said to myself, like the impertinent little critic I was; “this is not like Lady Conyngham’s husband!”—­the truth being that I could never get that unfortunate man quite out of my mind.

That night, certainly the very happiest of my life, my father danced with me.  Heaven help me!  I can remember my pride as I stood by the tall, stalwart figure, just able with the tips of my fingers to touch his arm.  Mamma danced with me, too, and my happiness was complete.  I watched all the ladies there, young and old; there was not one so fair as my mother.  Closing my eyes, so tired of this world’s sunlight, I see her again as I saw her that night, queen of the brilliant throng, the fairest woman present.  I see her with her loving heart full of emotion kissing my father.  I see her in the ballroom, the most graceful figure present.