And soon after four o’clock, splendid old Mrs. Irwine, in her damask satin and jewels and black lace, was led out by Arthur, followed by the whole family party, to her raised seat under the striped marquee, where she was to give out the prizes to the victors.  Staid, formal Miss Lydia had requested to resign that queenly office to the royal old lady, and Arthur was pleased with this opportunity of gratifying his godmother’s taste for stateliness.  Old Mr. Donnithorne, the delicately clean, finely scented, withered old man, led out Miss Irwine, with his air of punctilious, acid politeness; Mr. Gawaine brought Miss Lydia, looking neutral and stiff in an elegant peach-blossom silk; and Mr. Irwine came last with his pale sister Anne.  No other friend of the family, besides Mr. Gawaine, was invited to-day; there was to be a grand dinner for the neighbouring gentry on the morrow, but to-day all the forces were required for the entertainment of the tenants.

There was a sunk fence in front of the marquee, dividing the lawn from the park, but a temporary bridge had been made for the passage of the victors, and the groups of people standing, or seated here and there on benches, stretched on each side of the open space from the white marquees up to the sunk fence.

“Upon my word it’s a pretty sight,” said the old lady, in her deep voice, when she was seated, and looked round on the bright scene with its dark-green background; “and it’s the last fete-day I’m likely to see, unless you make haste and get married, Arthur.  But take care you get a charming bride, else I would rather die without seeing her.”

“You’re so terribly fastidious, Godmother,” said Arthur, “I’m afraid I should never satisfy you with my choice.”

“Well, I won’t forgive you if she’s not handsome.  I can’t be put off with amiability, which is always the excuse people are making for the existence of plain people.  And she must not be silly; that will never do, because you’ll want managing, and a silly woman can’t manage you.  Who is that tall young man, Dauphin, with the mild face?  There, standing without his hat, and taking such care of that tall old woman by the side of him—­his mother, of course.  I like to see that.”

“What, don’t you know him, Mother?” said Mr. Irwine.  “That is Seth Bede, Adam’s brother—­a Methodist, but a very good fellow.  Poor Seth has looked rather down-hearted of late; I thought it was because of his father’s dying in that sad way, but Joshua Rann tells me he wanted to marry that sweet little Methodist preacher who was here about a month ago, and I suppose she refused him.”

“Ah, I remember hearing about her.  But there are no end of people here that I don’t know, for they’re grown up and altered so since I used to go about.”

“What excellent sight you have!” said old Mr. Donnithorne, who was holding a double glass up to his eyes, “to see the expression of that young man’s face so far off.  His face is nothing but a pale blurred spot to me.  But I fancy I have the advantage of you when we come to look close.  I can read small print without spectacles.”