“There, that will do for me; I can finish the rest myself.  And now go to Blanche’s room and see to her and send Neil to me,” she said to Lydia, when she was nearly dressed.

Lydia obeyed, and after she had gone, Lady Jane said to her husband: 

“I hope Mrs. Smithers will not object to Blanche, even if she was not invited.  I really could not leave her behind.”

There was no reply from John, who was busy in the dressing-room, but a fresh young voice from the doorway answered her: 

“I think it was downright cheeky to bring her without an invitation.  With her giggling, and her reelys, and her yis-es—­all she can say—­and her white eyebrows and tow hair, she is not very ornamental, even if she has ten thousand a year.”

The speaker was Neil McPherson, the boy who on the Fourth of July had been thrashed by Grey Jerrold for his sneer at the American flag, find his comments on American ladies.  He was a year older than Grey, with a dark, handsome face, a pleasant smile, and winsome ways when he chose to be agreeable.  As a rule, he was very good-natured, and his manners were perfect for a boy of fifteen; but there was in all he did or said an air of superiority, as if he felt himself quite above the majority of his companions, which, indeed, was the fact.  Trained by his mother from infancy to consider the Trevellian blood the best in England outside the pale of royalty, and the McPherson blood the best outside the peerage, it was not strange that his good qualities—­and he had many—­should be warped, and dwarfed, and overshadowed by an indomitable pride and supreme selfishness, which would prompt him at any time to sacrifice his best friend in behalf of his own interest.  And yet Neil was generally a favorite, for he was frank, and obliging, and good-humored, and very gentlemanly in his manner, and quick to render the little attentions so gratifying to the ladies, by whom he was held in high esteem as a pattern boy.  He was the idol of his mother, who saw no fault in him whatever, and who had commenced already to plan for him a brilliant marriage, or at least a marriage of money, for her own income was not large, and that of her husband smaller still.

Blanche Trevellian, whom Neil had designated as tow-haired, and white-browed, was her grand-niece, and Neil’s second cousin, and as heiress to ten thousand a year, she might develop into a desirable parti, notwithstanding her ordinary appearance now.  And so, when the girl became an orphan, Lady Jane offered to take charge of her, and took her into the family as the daughter of the house, though she never encouraged Neil to think of her as a sister.  She was his cousin Blanche, and entitled to a great deal of forbearance and respect, because of her money, and because her mother had been the granddaughter of a duke.  Neil called her cousin Blanche, and quarreled with and teased her, and made fun of her white eyebrows, and said her feet were too big, and her ankles too small, and that on standing she always bent her knees to make herself look short; for she was very tall and angular, and awkward every way.