ve been routed at once, and must
have fled in utter bewilderment and dismay. After my aunt had replied
courteously enough to a few commonplace observations, she gave one of
her ominous coughs, and I trembled for the result.

"Captain _Beville_," said my aunt. "I think I once knew a family of
your name in Hampshire--the New Forest, if I remember rightly."

"Excuse me," said Frank, nowise disconcerted, and with a sly glance at
me, "my name is Lovell."

"Oh," replied my aunt, with a considerable assumption of stateliness,
"then--ahem!--Captain _Greville_, I don't think I have ever had the
pleasure of meeting you before."

And my aunt looked as if she didn't care whether she ever met him
again. This would have been a "poser" to most people; but Frank
applied himself diligently to his hat, and opened the trenches in his
own way.

"The fact is, Miss Horsingham," said he, "that I have taken advantage
of my intimacy with your nephew to call upon you without a previous
introduction, in hopes of ascertaining what has become of an old
brother officer of mine, a namesake of yours, and consequently, I
should conclude, a relative. There is, I believe, only one family in
England of your name. Excuse me, Miss Horsingham, for so personal a
remark, but I am convinced he must have been a near connection from a
peculiarity which every one who knows anything about our old English
families is aware belongs to yours: my poor friend Charlie had a
beautiful 'hand.' _You_, madame, I perceive, own the same advantage;
therefore I am convinced you must be a near connection of my old
comrade. You may think me impertinent, but there is no mistaking 'the
Horsingham hand.'"

Aunt Deborah gave in at once.

"I cannot call to mind at this moment any relative of mine who is
likely to have served with you" (nor was this to be wondered at, the
warrior _aux blanches mains_ being a fabulous creation of wicked
Frank); "but I have no doubt, Captain Lovell, that you are correct. I
have great pleasure in making your acquaintance, particularly as you
seem well acquainted with our belongings. Do you stay any length of
time in town?"

"I seldom remain till the end of the season; but this year I think I
shall. By the way, Miss Horsingham, I saw a curious old picture the
other day in the West of England, purporting to be a portrait of the
celebrated 'Ysonde of Brittany, with the White Hand,' in which I
traced a strong resemblance to some of the Horsinghams,