children were growing up to man’s and woman’s estate, or thought that the intimacy and probable attachment would be no bad thing, even if it did lead to a marriage.  Still, nothing was ever said by young Gibson till later on, when it was too late, as it turned out.  He went to and from Oxford; he shot and fished with Mr. Galindo, or came to the Mere to skate in winter-time; was asked to accompany Mr. Galindo to the Hall, as the latter returned to the quiet dinner with his wife and daughter; and so, and so, it went on, nobody much knew how, until one day, when Mr. Galindo received a formal letter from his brother’s bankers, announcing Sir Lawrence’s death, of malaria fever, at Albano, and congratulating Sir Hubert on his accession to the estates and the baronetcy.  The king is dead—­“Long live the king!” as I have since heard that the French express it.

Sir Hubert and his wife were greatly surprised.  Sir Lawrence was but two years older than his brother; and they had never heard of any illness till they heard of his death.  They were sorry; very much shocked; but still a little elated at the succession to the baronetcy and estates.  The London bankers had managed everything well.  There was a large sum of ready money in their hands, at Sir Hubert’s service, until he should touch his rents, the rent-roll being eight thousand a-year.  And only Laurentia to inherit it all!  Her mother, a poor clergyman’s daughter, began to plan all sorts of fine marriages for her; nor was her father much behind his wife in his ambition.  They took her up to London, when they went to buy new carriages, and dresses, and furniture.  And it was then and there she made my lady’s acquaintance.  How it was that they came to take a fancy to each other, I cannot say.  My lady was of the old nobility,—­grand, compose, gentle, and stately in her ways.  Miss Galindo must always have been hurried in her manner, and her energy must have shown itself in inquisitiveness and oddness even in her youth.  But I don’t pretend to account for things:  I only narrate them.  And the fact was this:—­that the elegant, fastidious countess was attracted to the country girl, who on her part almost worshipped my lady.  My lady’s notice of their daughter made her parents think, I suppose, that there was no match that she might not command; she, the heiress of eight thousand a-year, and visiting about among earls and dukes.  So when they came back to their old Westmoreland Hall, and Mark Gibson rode over to offer his hand and his heart, and prospective estate of nine hundred a-year, to his old companion and playfellow, Laurentia, Sir Hubert and Lady Galindo made very short work of it.  They refused him plumply themselves; and when he begged to be allowed to speak to Laurentia, they found some excuse for refusing him the opportunity of so doing, until they had talked to her themselves, and brought up every argument and fact in their power to convince her—­a plain girl, and conscious of her plainness—­that