nded to my own case. My guardians were not
my great-grandparents, but Major Buller, and Mr. Arkwright, a clergyman
of the Church of England. My great-grandfather and great-grandmother
were Roman Catholics. Though not my appointed guardians, they were my
nearest relations, and when my great-grandmother had held out her little
hand towards me over the side of the pony-carriage and said, "You will
let the child come to me? Soon, very soon?" Major Buller had taken her
hand in both his, and replied very cordially, "Of course, my dear madam,
of course. Whenever it is convenient to yourself and to Mr. de
Vandaleur."

And this promise had stirred my heart with such a flutter of happy
expectation as I had not felt since I persuaded my father to promise
that I should dine with him, all alone, like a grown-up lady, on that
sad birthday on which he died.

It is perhaps useless to try and find reasons for the fancy I took to
the "Duchess"--as Aunt Theresa called her--since it was allowed that she
fascinated every one who came near her. With the bright qualities which
made her admirable in herself, she combined the gracious art of putting
other people at ease with themselves; and, remembering how sore the
wounds of a child's self-love are, I think that her kindness must have
been very skilful to make me forgive myself for that folly of the
looking-glass enough to forget myself in admiration of her.

Like most children, I was given to hero and heroine worship. I admired
more than one lady of Aunt Theresa's acquaintance, and had been
fascinated by some others whom I did not know, but had only seen in
church, and had longed for the time when I also should no longer trip
about in short and simple skirts, and tie up my curls with a ribbon, but
should sweep grandly and languidly in to the parade service, bury half a
pew under the festoons and furbelows of my silk dress and velvet
trimmings, sink into a nest of matchless millinery for the Litany, scent
the air with patchouli as I rose for the hymn, examine the other ladies'
bonnets through one of those eyeglasses which are supposed to make it no
longer rude to stare, and fan myself from the fatigues of the service
during the sermon.

But even the dignity of grown-updom embellished by pretty faces and
splendid costumes did not stir my imagination as it was stirred by the
sight of my great-grandmother and by the history of her life. It was
like seeing the princess of a fairy tale with one