ce looks--Make
way for Madame l'Ambassadrice d'Angleterre--Call her Excellency's
people'--that's what I like. And as for you, you want a woman to bring
your slippers and cap, and to sit at your feet, and cry, 'O caro! O
bravo!' whilst you read your Shakespeares and Miltons and stuff. Mamma
would have been the wife for you, had you been a little older, though
you look ten years older than she does--you do, you glum-faced,
blue-bearded little old man! You might have sat, like Darby and Joan,
and flattered each other; and billed and cooed like a pair of old
pigeons on a perch. I want my wings and to use them, sir." And she
spread out her beautiful arms, as if indeed she could fly off like the
pretty "Gawrie," whom the man in the story was enamored of.

"And what will your Peter Wilkins say to your flight?" says Esmond, who
never admired this fair creature more than when she rebelled and laughed
at him.

"A duchess knows her place," says she, with a laugh. "Why, I have a
son already made for me, and thirty years old (my Lord Arran), and four
daughters. How they will scold, and what a rage they will be in, when I
come to take the head of the table! But I give them only a month to
be angry; at the end of that time they shall love me every one, and
so shall Lord Arran, and so shall all his Grace's Scots vassals and
followers in the Highlands. I'm bent on it; and when I take a thing in
my head, 'tis done. His Grace is the greatest gentleman in Europe, and
I'll try and make him happy; and, when the King comes back, you may
count on my protection, Cousin Esmond--for come back the King will and
shall; and I'll bring him back from Versailles, if he comes under my
hoop."

"I hope the world will make you happy, Beatrix," says Esmond, with a
sigh. "You'll be Beatrix till you are my Lady Duchess--will you not? I
shall then make your Grace my very lowest bow."

"None of these sighs and this satire, cousin," she says. "I take his
Grace's great bounty thankfully--yes, thankfully; and will wear his
honors becomingly. I do not say he hath touched my heart; but he has my
gratitude, obedience, admiration--I have told him that, and no more;
and with that his noble heart is content. I have told him all--even the
story of that poor creature that I was engaged to--and that I could not
love; and I gladly gave his word back to him, and jumped for joy to get
back my own. I am twenty-five years old."

"Twenty-six, my dear," says Esmond.

"Twe