ve; and although I appreciated the compliment, I was forced to
turn my back on my unwashed admirer, and reply to the greetings of the
picnic party we had come down to join.

There was Mrs. Molasses and her two daughters to begin with, people of
unheard-of wealth, of which they seemed to carry a large portion on
their persons. The mamma, ample, black-eyed, fresh-coloured, and
brocaded, with an extremely natural wig. The eldest daughter, Mary,
with whom I had afterwards reason to be better acquainted, pale,
languid, very quiet, and low-toned, with fine eyes, and soft dark
hair, and what people call an _interesting_ look. She took the
sentimental line--was all feeling and poetry, and milk and water, and
as easily frightened as she was reassured again. The younger girl,
Jane, was the very reverse of her sister--short and dark and
energetic, rather blue, and I thought a little impudent; however, I
liked her the best of the two. Then came Sir Guy and Lady Scapegrace.
The Baronet, a stout, square, elderly man, with enormous dyed whiskers
and hair to match, combining as much as possible the manners of the
coachman with the morals of the _roue_. A tremendous dandy of the
Four-in-hand Club school--high neckcloth, huge pins, gorgeous
patterns, enormous buttons, and a flower in his mouth. His lady as
handsome as a star, though a little hollow-eyed and _passee_. She
looked like a tragedy queen, with her magnificent figure, and long
black hair, and fierce flashing eyes, and woe-begone expression, and
the black velvet ribbon with its diamond cross, which she always wore
round her neck. Ah me! what stories that diamond-cross could tell, if
all be true that we hear of Lady Scapegrace! A girl sold for money, to
become a rebellious wife to an unfeeling husband. A handsome young
cousin, who cut his own throat in despair--they brought it in
temporary insanity, of course. An elopement with a gallant Major to
the south of France, and a duel there, in which the Major was shot,
but not by Sir Guy; an English lady of rank travelling on the
Continent, independent and alone, breaking banks in all directions
with her luck and hearts with her beauty; a reconciliation, entirely
for money considerations, which drove another far less erring woman
into a madhouse (but that was Sir Guy's fault); and a darker tale
still of a certain potion prepared by her hand, which the Baronet was
prevented from swallowing only by his invariable habit of
contradicting