“And Harry is very good to look at,” says my lady, with her fond eyes regarding the young man.

“If ’tis good to see a happy face,” says he, “you see that.”  My lady said, “Amen,” with a sigh; and Harry thought the memory of her dear lord rose up and rebuked her back again into sadness; for her face lost the smile, and resumed its look of melancholy.

“Why, Harry, how fine we look in our scarlet and silver, and our black periwig,” cries my lord.  “Mother, I am tired of my own hair.  When shall I have a peruke?  Where did you get your steenkirk, Harry?”

“It’s some of my Lady Dowager’s lace,” says Harry; “she gave me this and a number of other fine things.”

“My Lady Dowager isn’t such a bad woman,” my lord continued.

“She’s not so—­so red as she’s painted,” says Miss Beatrix.

Her brother broke into a laugh.  “I’ll tell her you said so; by the Lord, Trix, I will,” he cries out.

“She’ll know that you hadn’t the wit to say it, my lord,” says Miss Beatrix.

“We won’t quarrel the first day Harry’s here, will we, mother?” said the young lord.  “We’ll see if we can get on to the new year without a fight.  Have some of this Christmas pie.  And here comes the tankard; no, it’s Pincot with the tea.”

“Will the Captain choose a dish?” asked Mistress Beatrix.

“I say, Harry,” my lord goes on, “I’ll show thee my horses after breakfast; and we’ll go a bird-netting to-night, and on Monday there’s a cock-match at Winchester—­do you love cock-fighting, Harry?—­between the gentlemen of Sussex and the gentlemen of Hampshire, at ten pound the battle, and fifty pound the odd battle to show one-and-twenty cocks.”

“And what will you do, Beatrix, to amuse our kinsman?” asks my lady.

“I’ll listen to him,” says Beatrix.  “I am sure he has a hundred things to tell us.  And I’m jealous already of the Spanish ladies.  Was that a beautiful nun at Cadiz that you rescued from the soldiers?  Your man talked of it last night in the kitchen, and Mrs. Betty told me this morning as she combed my hair.  And he says you must be in love, for you sat on deck all night, and scribbled verses all day in your tablebook.”  Harry thought if he had wanted a subject for verses yesterday, to-day he had found one:  and not all the Lindamiras and Ardelias of the poets were half so beautiful as this young creature; but he did not say so, though some one did for him.

This was his dear lady, who, after the meal was over, and the young people were gone, began talking of her children with Mr. Esmond, and of the characters of one and the other, and of her hopes and fears for both of them. “’Tis not while they are at home,” she said, “and in their mother’s nest, I fear for them—­’tis when they are gone into the world, whither I shall not be able to follow them.  Beatrix will begin her service next year.  You may have heard a rumor about—­about my Lord Blandford.  They were both children; and it is but idle talk.  I know my kinswoman would never let him make such a poor marriage as our Beatrix would be.  There’s scarce a princess in Europe that she thinks is good enough for him or for her ambition.”