ok place. Mrs. Clantantram was announced.

No announcement was necessary, indeed, for the good lady's voice
was heard as she walked across the courtyard to the house, scolding
the unfortunate postilion who had driven her from Barchester. At
the moment Miss Thorne could not but be thankful that the other
guests were more fashionable and were thus spared the fury of Mrs.
Clantantram's indignation.

"Oh, Miss Thorne, look here!" said she as soon as she found herself
in the drawing-room; "do look at my roque-laure. It's clean spoilt,
and forever. I wouldn't but wear it because I knew you wished us all
to be grand to-day, and yet I had my misgivings. Oh dear, oh dear!
It was five-and-twenty shillings a yard."

The Barchester post-horses had misbehaved in some unfortunate manner
just as Mrs. Clantantram was getting out of the chaise and had nearly
thrown her under the wheel.

Mrs. Clantantram belonged to other days, and therefore, though she
had but little else to recommend her, Miss Thorne was to a certain
extent fond of her. She sent the roque-laure away to be cleaned, and
lent her one of her best shawls out of her own wardrobe.

The next comer was Mr. Arabin, who was immediately informed of Mrs.
Clantantram's misfortune and of her determination to pay neither
master nor post-boy, although, as she remarked, she intended to get
her lift home before she made known her mind upon that matter. Then
a good deal of rustling was heard in the sort of lobby that was used
for the ladies' outside cloaks, and the door having been thrown wide
open, the servant announced, not in the most confident of voices,
Mrs. Lookaloft, and the Miss Lookalofts, and Mr. Augustus Lookaloft.

Poor man!--we mean the footman. He knew, none better, that Mrs.
Lookaloft had no business there, that she was not wanted there, and
would not be welcome. But he had not the courage to tell a stout lady
with a low dress, short sleeves, and satin at eight shillings a yard
that she had come to the wrong tent; he had not dared to hint to young
ladies with white dancing shoes and long gloves that there was a place
ready for them in the paddock. And thus Mrs. Lookaloft carried her
point, broke through the guards, and made her way into the citadel.
That she would have to pass an uncomfortable time there she had
surmised before. But nothing now could rob her of the power of
boasting that she had consorted on the lawn with the squire and Miss
Thorne, with a countess,