I say, “Well, Croft, it is very nice to see you,” and he says, “The same to you, miss, and many of them.”  He then begins to “riminize”; the word is his own.  He begins with the auspicious day on which I was born, and describes how he himself went to fetch the doctor in the dead of the night.  He describes minutely his costume and the part the elements played on the occasion; they were evidently very much upset.  He then goes on to say how he held me on my first pony, and taught me to ride and drive.  Having finally certificated me as competent to drive a pair of horses under any circumstances, I ask how the children are, Sara in particular.  Here Croft looks heavenward, and says she looks a picture, and adds that she looks very like me.  The footman knows that here the program is at an end, Croft having no greater praise to bestow on mortal woman, and he opens the carriage door and I get in.

Diana knows what it is to travel t he distance of three miles in the suffocating embraces of Hugh and Betty; otherwise she would probably have sent the children to meet me.

The smell of the brougham brought my childhood vividly back to me.  I shut my eyes and instinctively put out my hand; and that hand that was always held out to us as children took mine in its loving clasp, and I was a child again, home from a visit, so glad to feel that hand again and to see that mother from whom it was agony to be parted, for even a short space of time.

Chapter III

When I arrived at Hames, Diana, tall, fair, and beautiful as a Diana should be, was on the doorstep to meet me.  Diana, by the way, had been christened “Diana Elizabeth,” in case she should have turned out short and dumpy and, by some miraculous chance, dark.  I looked for Sara in the tail of Diana’s gown, —­ I am afraid this is a literary license, as Diana does not wear tails to her gowns in the country as a rule, —­ but Sara was not there.

“She is not there, said Diana.  “The children are in the wildest state of excitement, and will you faithfully promise to go up and see them directly you have had tea?”

I would willingly have gone then and there, and murmured something about my box, and Diana said she hoped I had not brought them anything.

“Oh! nothing,” I said; “only the smallest things possible”; knowing all the time that the woolly rabbit was, of its kind, unrivaled.  But these are professional expenses, and what I spend does not afterwards give me a moment’s worry.  I have seen David, on the other hand, speechlessly miserable after buying a mezzotint, for the time being only, of course; the joy cometh in the morning, when Diana proves to him that it was the only thing to do, and that it was really quite wonderful, the way in which he was led to buy it.  He had had no idea of doing so.  Not the slightest!  And yet something within him urged him to buy it.  Absolutely urged him!