hska and pair, ruled over by a tyrannical
coachman, he had provided her with a herd of little animals for harness
or saddle, and a young groom, for whom Coombe was answerable. Mrs.
Curtis groaned and feared the establishment would look flighty; but for
the first time Rachel became the colonel's ally. "The worst despotism
practised in England," she said, "is that of coachmen, and it is well
that Fanny should be spared! The coachman who lived here when mamma was
married, answered her request to go a little faster, 'I shall drive my
horses as I plazes,' and I really think the present one is rather worse
in deed, though not in word."

Moreover, Rachel smoothed down a little of Mrs. Curtis's uneasiness at
Fanny's change of costume at the end of her first year of widowhood,
on the ground that Colonel Keith advised her to ride with her sons,
and that this was incompatible with weeds. "And dear Sir Stephen did so
dislike the sight of them," she added, in her simple, innocent way, as
if she were still dressing to please him.

"On the whole, mother," said Rachel, "unless there is more heart-break
than Fanny professes, there's more coquetry in a pretty young thing
wearing a cap that says, 'come pity me,' than in going about like other
people."

"I only wish she could help looking like a girl of seventeen," sighed
Mrs. Curtis. "If that colonel were but married, or the other young man!
I'm sure she will fall into some scrape; she does not know how, out of
sheer innocence."

"Well, mother, you know I always mean to ride with her, and that will be
a protection."

"But, my dear, I am not sure about your riding with these gay officers;
you never used to do such things."

"At my age, mother, and to take care of Fanny."

And Mrs. Curtis, in her uncertainty whether to sanction the proceedings
and qualify them, or to make a protest--dreadful to herself, and more
dreadful to Fanny,--yielded the point when she found herself not backed
up by her energetic daughter, and the cavalcade almost daily set forth
from Myrtlewood, and was watched with eyes of the greatest vexation,
if not by kind Mrs. Curtis, by poor Mr. Touchett, to whom Lady Temple's
change of dress had been a grievous shock. He thought her so lovely, so
interesting, at first; and now, though it was sacrilege to believe it of
so gentle and pensive a face, was not this a return to the world? What
had she to do with these officers? How could her aunt permit it? No
doubt it was