routs and balls, and to play cards every night of my life
till the year eighteen hundred. And I like to be the first of my company,
sir; and I like flattery and compliments, and you give me none; and I like
to be made to laugh, sir, and who's to laugh at _your_ dismal face, I
should like to know; and I like a coach-and-six or a coach-and-eight; and
I like diamonds, and a new gown every week; and people to say--'That's the
duchess--How well her grace 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 enamoured 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