“A freehold possession of men’s souls!  The fact is, Mr. Morton, that the spirit of conservatism in this country is so strong that you cannot bear to part with a shred of the barbarism of the middle ages.  And when a rag is sent to the winds you shriek with agony at the disruption, and think that the wound will be mortal.”  As Mr. Gotobed said this he extended his right hand and laid his left on his breast as though he were addressing the Senate from his own chair.  Morton, who had offered to entertain the gentleman for ten days, sincerely wished that he were doing so.

On the Monday afternoon the Trefoils arrived.  Mr. Morton, with his mother and both the carriages, went down to receive them,—­with a cart also for luggage, which was fortunate, as Arabella Trefoil’s big box was very big indeed, and Lady Augustus, though she was economical in most things, had brought a comfortable amount of clothes.  Each of them had her own lady’s maid, so that the two carriages were necessary.  How it was that these ladies lived so luxuriously was a mystery to their friends, as for some time past they had enjoyed no particular income of their own.  Lord Augustus had spent everything that came to his hand, and the family owned no house at all.  Nevertheless Arabella Trefoil was to be seen at all parties magnificently dressed, and never stirred anywhere without her own maid.  It would have been as grievous to her to be called on to live without food as to go without this necessary appendage.  She was a big, fair girl whose copious hair was managed after such a fashion that no one could guess what was her own and what was purchased.  She certainly had fine eyes, though I could never imagine how any one could look at them and think it possible that she should be in love.  They were very large, beautifully blue, but never bright; and the eyebrows over them were perfect.  Her cheeks were somewhat too long and the distance from her well-formed nose, to her upper lip too great.  Her mouth was small and her teeth excellent.  But the charm of which men spoke the most was the brilliance of her complexion.  If, as the ladies said, it was all paint, she, or her maid, must have been a great artist.  It never betrayed itself to be paint.  But the beauty on which she prided herself was the grace of her motion.  Though she was tall and big she never allowed an awkward movement to escape from her.  She certainly did it very well.  No young woman could walk across an archery ground with a finer step, or manage a train with more perfect ease, or sit upon her horse with a more complete look of being at home there.  No doubt she was slow, but though slow she never seemed to drag.  Now she was, after a certain fashion, engaged to marry John Morton and perhaps she was one of the most unhappy young persons in England.