She had a gay, careless manner, but her smiling eyes took a tolerably sharp survey of the stranger nevertheless, and she was not ill satisfied with the result.  “He is very good-looking,” she said to herself, “and looks nice.  Of course he must be very countrified, but we will help him to rub that off.”  So she took him under her patronage immediately.  She said no more to him, however, at present, but occupied herself with her grandfather, asking a great many questions, and telling him of the places and people she and her husband had seen during their two months’ tour.  Mr. Beresford was interested and amused; the little lady possessed one decided advantage over Maurice, for she and her grandfather belonged entirely to the same world, though to two different generations, and could enter into the same subjects and understand the same allusions.  While they talked, Maurice had an opportunity of looking more deliberately at his cousin.  He liked her small graceful figure, her tiny hands, and bright sunshiny face, with its frame of almost golden hair arranged in full soft puffs; he liked the air of daintiness and refinement about her dress, and the musical sound of her voice as she talked.  He admired her the more, perhaps, because she was quite unlike the type of woman which was, in his thoughts, beyond admiration.  But it did occur to him how lovely Lucia would look, with the same advantages of wealth and station as Lady Dighton, and a delicious vision swept past him, of the old house brightening up permanently, under the reign of a beautiful mistress.

He had not many minutes, however, for fancies; the most important news on both sides having been exchanged, the other two were coming to subjects in which he could join, and went on smoothly and pleasantly enough till luncheon.  After that meal Mr. Beresford always went to sleep; it was generally Maurice’s holiday, when he could ride or walk out without fear of being missed, but to-day he only strolled out on the long portico in front of the house, while Lady Dighton went to have a chat with the housekeeper.

Presently, however, a gleam of bright colour appeared at the hall door, and Maurice went forward and met her coming out.

“Shall I get you a shawl?” he said; “it is not very warm here.”

“No, thank you; I like the cool air.  I want to come out and talk to you, for grandpapa takes up all my attention when I am with him.”

They began walking slowly up and down under the stone colonnade, which had been added as a decoration to the front of the dark red brick house, and Lady Dighton went on talking.

“I was so glad when I heard you were here.  Ever since poor papa’s death I have felt quite uncomfortable about grandpapa.  I came over to see him as often as I could, but, of course, I had to think of Sir John.”

“And Dighton is a good way from here?” Maurice said.  He had not been quite sure whether his cousin would not regard him as an interloper, coming between her and her inheritance; and he was still sufficiently in the dark, to feel the subject an awkward one.