“I’m glad she is gone,” said Dora, true to her jealousy.  “I like Dermot; he’s got some sense in him, but she’s not half so nice and pretty as Lucy.”

At which we all laughed, for I had never had any attempt at beauty, except, I believe, good hair and teeth, and a habit of looking good-humoured.

“She’s a tip-topper,” pronounced Eustace, “and no wonder, considering who she is.  Has she been presented, Lucy?”

Though she had not yet had that inestimable advantage, Eustace showed himself so much struck with her that, when next Harold found himself alone with me, he built a very remarkable castle in the air—­namely, a wedding between Eustace and Viola Tracy.  “If I saw him with such happiness as that,” said Harold, “it would be all right.  I should have no fears at all for him.  Don’t you think it might be, Lucy?”

“I don’t think you took the way to recommend the family to Lady Diana,” I said, laughing.

“I had not thought of it then,” said Harold; “I’m always doing something wrong.  I wonder if I had better go back and keep out of his way?”

He guessed what I should answer, I believe, for I was sure that Eustace would fail without Harold, and I told him that his cousin must not be left to himself till he had a good wife.  To which Harold replied, “Are all English ladies like that?”

He had an odd sort of answer the next day, when we were all riding together, and met another riding party—­namely, the head of the Horsman family and his two sisters, who had been on the Continent when my nephews arrived.  Mamma did not like them, and we had never been great friends; but they hailed me quite demonstratively with their eager, ringing voices:  “Lucy!  Lucy Alison!  So glad to see you!  Here we are again.  Introduce us, pray.”

So I did.  Mr. Horsman, Miss Hippolyta, and Miss Philippa Horsman—­ Baby Jack, Hippo, and Pippa, as they were commonly termed—­and we all rode together as long as we were on the Roman road, while they conveyed, rather loudly, information about the Dolomites.

They were five or six years older than I, and the recollection of childish tyranny and compulsion still made me a little afraid of them.  They excelled in all kinds of sports in which we younger ones had not had nearly so much practice, and did not much concern themselves whether the sport were masculine or feminine, to the distress of the quiet elder half-sister, who stayed at home, like a hen with ducklings to manage.

They spoke of calling, and while I could not help being grateful, I knew how fallen my poor mother would think me to welcome the notice of Pippa and Hippo.

Most enthusiastic was the latter as she rode behind with me, looking at the proportions of Harry and his horse, some little way on before, with Dora on one side, and Pippa rattling on the other.

“Splendid!  Splendiferous!  More than I was prepared for, though I heard all about the lion—­and that he has been a regular stunner in Australia—­eh, Lucy, just like a hero of Whyte-Melville’s, eh?”