for a gentleman in London. (I am not a gentleman in London—­hang the gentleman in London!) She had carefully put the two letters into her bosom (what have I to do with her bosom?); she had been very unhappy, when Miss Halcombe had gone away again; she had not had the heart to put bit or drop between her lips till it was near bedtime, and then, when it was close on nine o’clock, she had thought she should like a cup of tea. (Am I responsible for any of these vulgar fluctuations, which begin with unhappiness and end with tea?) Just as she was warming the pot (I give the words on the authority of Louis, who says he knows what they mean, and wishes to explain, but I snub him on principle)—­just as she was warming the pot the door opened, and she was struck of A heap (her own words again, and perfectly unintelligible this time to Louis, as well as to myself) by the appearance in the inn parlour of her ladyship the Countess.  I give my niece’s maid’s description of my sister’s title with a sense of the highest relish.  My poor dear sister is a tiresome woman who married a foreigner.  To resume:  the door opened, her ladyship the Countess appeared in the parlour, and the Young Person was struck of a heap.  Most remarkable!

I must really rest a little before I can get on any farther.  When I have reclined for a few minutes, with my eyes closed, and when Louis has refreshed my poor aching temples with a little eau-de-Cologne, I may be able to proceed.

Her ladyship the Countess——­

No.  I am able to proceed, but not to sit up.  I will recline and dictate.  Louis has a horrid accent, but he knows the language, and can write.  How very convenient!

Her ladyship, the Countess, explained her unexpected appearance at the inn by telling Fanny that she had come to bring one or two little messages which Miss Halcombe in her hurry had forgotten.  The Young Person thereupon waited anxiously to hear what the messages were, but the Countess seemed disinclined to mention them (so like my sister’s tiresome way!) until Fanny had had her tea.  Her ladyship was surprisingly kind and thoughtful about it (extremely unlike my sister), and said, “I am sure, my poor girl, you must want your tea.  We can let the messages wait till afterwards.  Come, come, if nothing else will put you at your ease, I’ll make the tea and have a cup with you.”  I think those were the words, as reported excitably, in my presence, by the Young Person.  At any rate, the Countess insisted on making the tea, and carried her ridiculous ostentation of humility so far as to take one cup herself, and to insist on the girl’s taking the other.  The girl drank the tea, and according to her own account, solemnised the extraordinary occasion five minutes afterwards by fainting dead away for the first time in her life.  Here again I use her own words.  Louis thinks they were accompanied by an increased secretion of tears.  I can’t say myself.  The effort of listening being quite as much as I could manage, my eyes were closed.