In a few moments more she was affectionately welcomed by old Mrs. Langford, whose sentiments with regard to the two Beatrices were of a curiously varying and always opposite description.  When her daughter-in-law was at a distance, she secretly regarded with a kind of respectful aversion, both her talents, her learning, and the fashionable life to which she had been accustomed; but in her presence the winning, lively simplicity of her manners completely dispelled all these prejudices in an instant, and she loved her most cordially for her own sake, as well as because she was Geoffrey’s wife.  On the contrary, the younger Beatrice, while absent, was the dear little granddaughter,—­the Queen of Bees, the cleverest of creatures; and while present, it has already been shown how constantly the two tempers fretted each other, or had once done so, though now, so careful had Busy Bee lately been, there had been only one collision between them for the last ten days, and that was caused by her strenuous attempts to convince grandmamma that Fred was not yet fit for boiled chicken and calves’ foot jelly.

Mrs. Langford’s greetings were not half over when Henrietta and her mamma hastened down stairs to embrace dear Aunt Geoffrey.

“My dear Mary, I am so glad to be come to you at last!”

“Thank you, O! thank you, Beatrice.  How Fred will enjoy having you now!”

“Is he tired?” asked Uncle Geoffrey.

“No, not at all; he seems to be very comfortable.  He has been talking of Queen Bee’s promised visit.  Do you like to go up now, my dear?”

Queen Bee consented eagerly, though with some trepidation, for she had not seen her cousin since his accident, and besides, she did not know how to begin about Philip Carey.  She ran to take off her bonnet, while Henrietta went to announce her coming.  She knocked at the door, Henrietta opened it, and coming in, she saw Fred lying on the sofa by the fire, in his dressing-gown, stretched out in that languid listless manner that betokens great feebleness.  There were the purple marks of leeches on his temples; his hair had been cropped close to his head; his face was long and thin, without a shade of colour, but his eyes looked large and bright; and he smiled and held out his hand:  “Ah, Queenie, how d’ye do?”

“How d’ye do, Fred?  I am glad you are better.”

“You see I have the asses’ ears after all,” said he, pointing to his own, which were very prominent in his shorn and shaven condition.

Beatrice could not very easily call up a smile, but she made an effort, and succeeded, while she said, “I should have complimented you on the increased wisdom of your looks.  I did not know the shape of your head was so like papa’s.”

“Is Aunt Geoffrey come?” asked Fred.

“Yes,” said his sister:  “but mamma thinks you had better not see her till to-morrow.”

“I wish Uncle Geoffrey was not going,” said Fred.  “Nobody else has the least notion of making one tolerably comfortable.”