There was Lady Jane all the time treading upon her sister’s foot as hard as possible, and the little wicked thing would take no notice; and I, who had never heard of the cousinship, feeling as confounded as could be.  But I did not know the Countess of Drum near so well as that sly minx her grand-daughter did; for the old lady, who had just before called poor Gus Hoskins her cousin, had, it appeared, the mania of fancying all the world related to her, and said—­

“Yes, we’re cousins, and not very far removed.  Mick Hoggarty’s grandmother was Millicent Brady, and she and my Aunt Towzer were related, as all the world knows; for Decimus Brady, of Ballybrady, married an own cousin of Aunt Towzer’s mother, Bell Swift—­that was no relation of the Dean’s, my love, who came but of a so-so family—­and isn’t that clear?”

“Oh, perfectly, Grandmamma,” said Lady Jane, laughing, while the right honourable gent still rode by us, looking sour and surly.

“And sure you knew the Hoggarties, Edmund?—­the thirteen red-haired girls—­the nine graces, and four over, as poor Clanboy used to call them.  Poor Clan!—­a cousin of yours and mine, Mr. Titmarsh, and sadly in love with me he was too.  Not remember them all now, Edmund?—­not remember?—­not remember Biddy and Minny, and Thedy and Widdy, and Mysie and Grizzy, and Polly and Dolly and the rest?”

“D—–­ the Miss Hoggarties, ma’am,” said the right honourable gent; and he said it with such energy, that his grey horse gave a sudden lash out that well nigh sent him over his head.  Lady Jane screamed; Lady Fanny laughed; old Lady Drum looked as if she did not care twopence, and said “Serve you right for swearing, you ojous man you!”

“Hadn’t you better come into the carriage, Edmund—­Mr. Preston?” cried out the lady, anxiously.

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll slip out, ma’am,” says I.

“Pooh—­pooh! don’t stir,” said Lady Drum:  “it’s my carriage; and if Mr. Preston chooses to swear at a lady of my years in that ojous vulgar way—­in that ojous vulgar way I repeat—­I don’t see why my friends should be inconvenienced for him.  Let him sit on the dicky if he likes, or come in and ride bodkin.”  It was quite clear that my Lady Drum hated her grandson-in-law heartily; and I’ve remarked somehow in families that this kind of hatred is by no means uncommon.

Mr. Preston, one of His Majesty’s Secretaries of State, was, to tell the truth, in a great fright upon his horse, and was glad to get away from the kicking plunging brute.  His pale face looked still paler than before, and his hands and legs trembled, as he dismounted from the cob and gave the reins to his servant.  I disliked the looks of the chap—­of the master, I mean—­at the first moment he came up, when he spoke rudely to that nice gentle wife of his; and I thought he was a cowardly fellow, as the adventure of the cob showed him to be.  Heaven bless you! a baby could have ridden it; and here was the man with his soul in his mouth at the very first kick.