g girl I've seen for a good
long time. But she's a Tartar, I'll swear--looks it, anyway."

"Every one says she has the most extraordinary opinions," said the girl,
eagerly. "She'll manage him, don't you think? I'm sure he's very meek
and mild."

"Don't know that," said the young man, twisting his moustache with the
air of exhaustive information. "Raeburn's a very good fellow--excellent
fellow--see him shooting, you know--that kind of thing. I expect he's
got a will when he wants it. The mother's handsome, too, and looks a
lady. The father's kept out of the way, I see. Rather a blessing for the
Raeburns. Can't be pleasant, you know, to get a man like that in the
family. Look after your spoons--that kind of thing."

Meanwhile Marcella was standing beside Miss Raeburn, at the head of the
long ball-room, and doing her best to behave prettily. One after
another she bowed to, or shook hands with, half the magnates of the
county--the men in pink, the women in the new London dresses, for which
this brilliant and long-expected ball had given so welcome an excuse.
They knew little or nothing of her, except that she was clearly
good-looking, that she was that fellow Dick Boyce's daughter and was
reported to be "odd." Some, mostly men, who said their conventional few
words to her, felt an amused admiration for the skill and rapidity with
which she had captured the _parti_ of the county; some, mostly women,
were already jealous of her. A few of the older people here and there,
both men and women--but after all they shook hands like the rest!--knew
perfectly well that the girl must be going through an ordeal, were
touched by the signs of thought and storm in the face, and looked back
at her with kind eyes.

But of these last Marcella realised nothing. What she was saying to
herself was that, if they knew little of her, she knew a great deal of
many of them. In their talks over the Stone Parlour fire she and Wharton
had gone through most of the properties, large and small, of his
division, and indeed of the divisions round, by the help of the
knowledge he had gained in his canvass, together with a blue-book--one
of the numberless!--recently issued, on the state of the midland
labourer. He had abounded in anecdote, sarcasm, reflection, based partly
on his own experiences, partly on his endless talks with the
working-folk, now in the public-house, now at their own chimney-corner.
Marcella, indeed, had a large unsuspected acquaintanc