except hospitable invitations from the hostesses to take the morsels that they cut for their guests, praises of the viands from Mrs. Hunter, and endeavours to fish at the recipes, which the owners guarded jealously as precious secrets.  Aurelia sat perfectly silent, as was then reckoned as proper in a young lady of her age, except when addressed.  A good deal of time was also expended in directing John Stiggins, the ladies’ own man, and George Brown, who had ridden with Mrs. Hunter from Brentford, in the disposal of the dishes, and the handing of the plates.  George Brown was the more skilled waiter, and as the man who was at home did not brook interference, their disputes were rude and audible, and kept the ladies in agonies lest they should result in ruin to the best china.

At last, however, the cloth was removed, walnuts, apples, pears, and biscuits were placed on the table, a glass of wine poured out for each lady, and the quartette, with the cat and dog, drew near the sunny window, where there was a little warmth.  It was a chilly day, but no one ever lighted a fire before the 5th of November, Old Style.

Then began one of those catechisms which fortunately are less unpleasant to youth and simplicity than they are to persons of an age to resent inquiry, and who have more resources of conversation.  In truth, Aurelia was in the eyes of the Treforth sisters, descendants of a former Sir Jovian, only my Lady’s poor kinswoman sent down to act gouvernante to the Wayland brats, who had been impertinently quartered in the Belamour household.  She would have received no further notice, had it not been reported through the servants that “young Miss” spent the evenings with their own cousin, from whom they had been excluded ever since his illness.

The subject was approached through interrogations on Miss Delavie’s home and breeding, how she had travelled, and what were her accomplishments, also whether she were quite sure that none of the triad was either imbecile nor deformed.  Mrs. Hunter seemed to have heard wonderful rumours about the poor children.

“Has their lady mother seen them?”

“Yes, madam.  She had been there with them shortly before my arrival.”

“Only once in their lives!” There was a groan of censure such as would have fired the loyal Major in defence.

“No wonder, Sister Phoebe, my Lady Belamour does not lead the life of a tender mother.”

“She has the little boy, Archer, with her in London,” Aurelia ventured to say.

“And a perfect puppet she makes of the poor child,” said Mrs. Hunter.  “My sister Chetwynd saw him with his mother at a masquerade, my Lady Belamour flaunting as Venus, and he, when he ought to have been in his bed, dressed in rose-colour and silver, with a bow and arrows, and gauze wings on his shoulders!”

“What will that child come to?”

“Remember, Sister Delia, he is no kin of ours.  He is only a Wayland!” returned Mrs. Phoebe, in an accent as if the Waylands were the most contemptible of vermin.