lately.' The man then drew a long
breath.

'Why did you breathe sadly like that?' said Cytherea.

'Ah!... When he's dead peace will be all over with us old servants. I
expect to see the old house turned inside out.'

'She will marry, do you mean?'

'Marry--not she! I wish she would. No, in her soul she's as solitary
as Robinson Crusoe, though she has acquaintances in plenty, if
not relations. There's the rector, Mr. Raunham--he's a relation by
marriage--yet she's quite distant towards him. And people say that if
she keeps single there will be hardly a life between Mr. Raunham and the
heirship of the estate. Dang it, she don't care. She's an extraordinary
picture of womankind--very extraordinary.'

'In what way besides?'

'You'll know soon enough, miss. She has had seven lady's-maids this last
twelvemonth. I assure you 'tis one body's work to fetch 'em from the
station and take 'em back again. The Lord must be a neglectful party at
heart, or he'd never permit such overbearen goings on!'

'Does she dismiss them directly they come!'

'Not at all--she never dismisses them--they go theirselves. Ye see 'tis
like this. She's got a very quick temper; she flees in a passion with
them for nothing at all; next mornen they come up and say they are
going; she's sorry for it and wishes they'd stay, but she's as proud as
a lucifer, and her pride won't let her say, "Stay," and away they go.
'Tis like this in fact. If you say to her about anybody, "Ah, poor
thing!" she says, "Pooh! indeed!" If you say, "Pooh, indeed!" "Ah, poor
thing!" she says directly. She hangs the chief baker, as mid be, and
restores the chief butler, as mid be, though the devil but Pharaoh
herself can see the difference between 'em.'

Cytherea was silent. She feared she might be again a burden to her
brother.

'However, you stand a very good chance,' the man went on, 'for I
think she likes you more than common. I have never known her send the
pony-carriage to meet one before; 'tis always the trap, but this time
she said, in a very particular ladylike tone, "Roobert, gaow with the
pony-kerriage."... There, 'tis true, pony and carriage too are getten
rather shabby now,' he added, looking round upon the vehicle as if to
keep Cytherea's pride within reasonable limits.

''Tis to be hoped you'll please in dressen her to-night.'

'Why to-night?'

'There's a dinner-party of seventeen; 'tis her father's birthday, and
she's very particular about her looks at