“Who is she, Hartledon?”

“Mrs. Mirrable,” answered his lordship rather shortly.  “I think you must have seen her before.  She has been Hartledon’s mistress since my mother died,” he rather pointedly added, for he saw incipient defiance in the old lady’s countenance.

“Oh, Hartledon’s head servant; the housekeeper, I presume,” cried she, as majestically as her harsh voice allowed her to speak.  “Perhaps you’ll tell her who I am, Hartledon; and that I have undertaken to preside here for a little while.”

“I believe Mrs. Mirrable knows you, ma’am,” spoke up Percival Elster, for Lord Hartledon had turned away, and was lost amongst his guests.  “You have seen the Countess-Dowager of Kirton, Mirrable?”

The countess-dowager faced round upon the speaker sharply.

“Oh, it’s you, Val Elster?  Who asked you to interfere?  I’ll see the rooms, Mirrable, and the arrangements you have made.  Maude, where are you?  Come with me.”

A tall, stately girl, with handsome features, raven hair and eyes, and a brilliant colour, extricated herself from the crowd.  It was Lady Maude Kirton.  Mirrable went first; the countess-dowager followed, talking volubly; and Maude brought up the rear.  Other servants came forward to see to the rest of the guests.

The most remarkable quality observable in the countess-dowager, apart from her great breadth, was her restlessness.  She seemed never still for an instant; her legs had a fidgety, nervous movement in them, and in moments of excitement, which were not infrequent, she was given to executing a sort of war-dance.  Old she was not; but her peculiar graces of person, her rotund form, her badly-made front of flaxen curls, which was rarely in its place, made her appear so.  A bold, scheming, unscrupulous, vulgar-minded woman, who had never considered other people’s feelings in her life, whether equals or inferiors.  In her day she must have been rather tall—­nearly as tall as that elegant Maude who followed her; but her astounding width caused her now to appear short.  She went looking into the different rooms as shown to her by Mirrable, and chose the best for herself and her daughter.

“Three en suite.  Yes, that will be the thing, Mirrable.  Lady Maude will take the inner one, I will occupy this, and my maid the outer.  Very good.  Now you may order the luggage up.”

“But my lady,” objected Mirrable, “these are the best rooms in the house; and each has a separate entrance, as you perceive.  With so many guests to provide for, your maid cannot have one of these rooms.”

“What?” cried the countess-dowager.  “My maid not have one of these rooms?  You insolent woman!  Do you know that I am come here with my nephew, Lord Hartledon, to be mistress of this house, and of every one in it?  You’d better mind your behaviour, for I can tell you that I shall look pretty sharply after it.”

“Then,” said Mirrable, who never allowed herself to be put out by any earthly thing, and rarely argued against the stream, “as your ladyship has come here as sole mistress, perhaps you will yourself apportion the rooms to the guests.”