his dreadful smallpox; nor your poor face
scarred--is it, my angel?"

Frank began to shout and whimper at the idea of such a misfortune, for
from the very earliest time the young lord had been taught by his mother
to admire his own beauty; and esteemed it very highly.

At length, when the danger was quite over, it was announced that my lord
and Beatrix would return. Esmond well remembered the day. My lady was in
a flurry of fear. Before my lord came she went into her room, and
returned from it with reddened cheeks. Her fate was about to be decided.
Would my lord--who cared so much for physical perfection--find hers gone,
too? A minute would say. She saw him come riding over the bridge, clad in
scarlet, and mounted on his grey hackney, his little daughter beside him,
in a bright riding dress of blue, on a shining chestnut horse. My lady
put her handkerchief to her eyes, and withdrew it, laughing hysterically.
She ran to her room again, and came back with pale cheeks and red eyes,
her son beside her, just as my lord entered, accompanied by young Esmond,
who had gone out to meet his protector, and to hold his stirrup as he
descended from horseback.

"What, Harry boy!" he exclaimed good-naturedly, "you look as gaunt as a
greyhound. The smallpox hasn't improved your beauty, and you never had
too much of it--ho!"

And he laughed and sprang to the ground, looking handsome and red, with a
jolly face and brown hair. Esmond, kneeling again, as soon as his patron
had descended, performed his homage, and then went to help the little
Beatrix from her horse.

"Fie! how yellow you look," she said; "and there are one, two red holes
in your face;" which indeed was very true, Harry Esmond's harsh
countenance bearing as long as he lived the marks of the disease.

My lord laughed again, in high good-humour, exclaiming with one of his
usual oaths, "The little minx sees everything. She saw the dowager's
paint t'other day, and asked her why she wore that red stuff--didn't you,
Trix? And the Tower; and St. James's; and the play; and the Prince
George; and the Princess Ann--didn't you, Trix?"

"They are both very fat, and smelt of brandy," the child said.

Papa roared with laughing.

"Brandy!" he said. "And how do you know, Miss Pert?"

"Because your lordship smells of it after supper, when I kiss you before
I go to bed," said the young lady, who indeed was as pert as her father
said, and looked as beautiful a little gipsy as eyes ev