“He looks healthy,” said the baronet, “but I am not a judge of babies.”

Thus, having capitulated, Raynham chose to acknowledge its new commandant, who was now borne away, under the directions of the housekeeper, to occupy the room Richard had slept in when an infant.

Austin cast no thought on his success.  The baronet said:  “She is extremely well-looking.”  He replied:  “A person you take to at once.”  There it ended.

But a much more animated colloquy was taking place aloft, where Lucy and Mrs. Berry sat alone.  Lucy expected her to talk about the reception they had met with, and the house, and the peculiarities of the rooms, and the solid happiness that seemed in store.  Mrs. Berry all the while would persist in consulting the looking-glass.  Her first distinct answer was, “My dear! tell me candid, how do I look?”

“Very nice indeed, Mrs. Berry; but could you have believed he would be so kind, so considerate?”

“I am sure I looked a frump,” returned Mrs. Berry.  “Oh dear! two birds at a shot.  What do you think, now?”

“I never saw so wonderful a likeness,” says Lucy.

“Likeness! look at me.”  Mrs. Berry was trembling and hot in the palms.

“You’re very feverish, dear Berry.  What can it be?”

“Ain’t it like the love-flutters of a young gal, my dear.”

“Go to bed, Berry, dear,” says Lucy, pouting in her soft caressing way.  “I will undress you, and see to you, dear heart!  You’ve had so much excitement.”

“Ha! ha!” Berry laughed hysterically; “she thinks it’s about this business of hers.  Why, it’s child’s-play, my darlin’.  But I didn’t look for tragedy to-night.  Sleep in this house I can’t, my love!”

Lucy was astonished.  “Not sleep here, Mrs. Berry?—­Oh! why, you silly old thing?  I know.”

“Do ye!” said Mrs. Berry, with a sceptical nose.

“You’re afraid of ghosts.”

“Belike I am when they’re six foot two in their shoes, and bellows when you stick a pin into their calves.  I seen my Berry!”

“Your husband?”

“Large as life!”

Lucy meditated on optical delusions, but Mrs. Berry described him as the Colossus who had marched them into the library, and vowed that he had recognized her and quaked.  “Time ain’t aged him,” said Mrs. Berry, “whereas me! he’ve got his excuse now.  I know I look a frump.”

Lucy kissed her:  “You look the nicest, dearest old thing.”

“You may say an old thing, my dear.”

“And your husband is really here?”

“Berry’s below!”

Profoundly uttered as this was, it chased every vestige of incredulity.

“What will you do, Mrs. Berry?”

“Go, my dear.  Leave him to be happy in his own way.  It’s over atween us, I see that.  When I entered the house I felt there was something comin’ over me, and lo and behold ye! no sooner was we in the hall-passage—­if it hadn’t been for that blessed infant I should ’a dropped.  I must ‘a known his step, for my heart began thumpin’, and I knew I hadn’t got my hair straight—­that Mr. Wentworth was in such a hurry—­nor my best gown.  I knew he’d scorn me.  He hates frumps.”