n face. Who, to look at her quick,
sharp countenance, with its practical sense, her active frame, her ready
speech, her general capability, would believe her to be sister to that
silly, dreaming Mrs. Gum? But it was so. Lord Hartledon, kind, affable,
unaffected as ever was his brother Percival, shook hands with her
heartily in the eyes of his guests before he said a word of welcome to
them; and one of those guests, a remarkably broad woman, with a red face,
a wide snub nose, and a front of light flaxen hair, who had stepped into
the house leaning on her host's arm--having, in fact, taken it unasked,
and seemed to be assuming a great deal of authority--turned round to
stare at Mirrable, and screwed her little light eyes together for a
better view.

"Who is she, Hartledon?"

"Mrs. Mirrable," answered his lordship rather shortly. "I think you must
have seen her before. She has been Hartledon's mistress since my mother
died," he rather pointedly added, for he saw incipient defiance in the
old lady's countenance.

"Oh, Hartledon's head servant; the housekeeper, I presume," cried she,
as majestically as her harsh voice allowed her to speak. "Perhaps you'll
tell her who I am, Hartledon; and that I have undertaken to preside here
for a little while."

"I believe Mrs. Mirrable knows you, ma'am," spoke up Percival Elster, for
Lord Hartledon had turned away, and was lost amongst his guests. "You
have seen the Countess-Dowager of Kirton, Mirrable?"

The countess-dowager faced round upon the speaker sharply.

"Oh, it's _you_, Val Elster? Who asked you to interfere? I'll see the
rooms, Mirrable, and the arrangements you have made. Maude, where are
you? Come with me."

A tall, stately girl, with handsome features, raven hair and eyes, and
a brilliant colour, extricated herself from the crowd. It was Lady Maude
Kirton. Mirrable went first; the countess-dowager followed, talking
volubly; and Maude brought up the rear. Other servants came forward to
see to the rest of the guests.

The most remarkable quality observable in the countess-dowager, apart
from her great breadth, was her restlessness. She seemed never still for
an instant; her legs had a fidgety, nervous movement in them, and in
moments of excitement, which were not infrequent, she was given to
executing a sort of war-dance. Old she was not; but her peculiar graces
of person, her rotund form, her badly-made front of flaxen curls, which
was rarely in its place, made he