She was standing up when I went in.  I dropped my curtsey at the door, which my mother had always taught me as a part of good manners, and went up instinctively to my lady.  She did not put out her hand, but raised herself a little on tiptoe, and kissed me on both cheeks.

“You are cold, my child.  You shall have a dish of tea with me.”  She rang a little hand-bell on the table by her, and her waiting-maid came in from a small anteroom; and, as if all had been prepared, and was awaiting my arrival, brought with her a small china service with tea ready made, and a plate of delicately-cut bread and butter, every morsel of which I could have eaten, and been none the better for it, so hungry was I after my long ride.  The waiting-maid took off my cloak, and I sat down, sorely alarmed at the silence, the hushed foot-falls of the subdued maiden over the thick carpet, and the soft voice and clear pronunciation of my Lady Ludlow.  My teaspoon fell against my cup with a sharp noise, that seemed so out of place and season that I blushed deeply.  My lady caught my eye with hers,—­both keen and sweet were those dark-blue eyes of her ladyship’s:—­

“Your hands are very cold, my dear; take off those gloves” (I wore thick serviceable doeskin, and had been too shy to take them off unbidden), “and let me try and warm them—­the evenings are very chilly.”  And she held my great red hands in hers,—­soft, warm, white, ring-laden.  Looking at last a little wistfully into my face, she said—­“Poor child!  And you’re the eldest of nine!  I had a daughter who would have been just your age; but I cannot fancy her the eldest of nine.”  Then came a pause of silence; and then she rang her bell, and desired her waiting-maid, Adams, to show me to my room.

It was so small that I think it must have been a cell.  The walls were whitewashed stone; the bed was of white dimity.  There was a small piece of red staircarpet on each side of the bed, and two chairs.  In a closet adjoining were my washstand and toilet-table.  There was a text of Scripture painted on the wall right opposite to my bed; and below hung a print, common enough in those days, of King George and Queen Charlotte, with all their numerous children, down to the little Princess Amelia in a go-cart.  On each side hung a small portrait, also engraved:  on the left, it was Louis the Sixteenth; on the other, Marie-Antoinette.  On the chimney-piece there was a tinder-box and a Prayer-book.  I do not remember anything else in the room.  Indeed, in those days people did not dream of writing-tables, and inkstands, and portfolios, and easy chairs, and what not.  We were taught to go into our bedrooms for the purposes of dressing, and sleeping, and praying.