animals: if she 'will, she will,' you may depend upon it!" she
continued.

"Do you honor those most untrue lines upon ladies by a quotation?" I
asked.

"I do not think they _are_ so very untrue," laughed Mary, "except in
confining obstinacy to us poor women and exempting the 'lords of the
creation.' The Scotch adage knows better. 'A wilful _man_----' You know
the rest."

"Quite well," I replied; "but another poet's lines on _you_ are far more
true. 'Ye are stars of the----'" I commenced.

"Mary, my love, let me introduce you to Lord Craigarven," said Mrs.
Aspeden, coming up with Lord Linton's heir-apparent.

At the same time I was introduced to Mr. Aspeden, a hearty Englishman,
loving his horses, his dogs, and his daughter; and as much the inferior
of his aristocratic-looking wife in _intellect_ as he was her superior
in _heart_. When we parted that night he gave Fane and me a most
hospitable general invitation, and, what was more, an especial one for
the next night. As we walked home "i' the grey o' the morning," I asked
Fane who his "houri" was.

"A niece of Mr. Aspeden's, and cousin to your friend Cleaveland," was
the reply. "Those Aspedens really seem to be uncle and aunt to every
one. She is staying there now."

"So is Tom Cleaveland," said I. "But, pray, are your expectations quite
realized? Is she as charming as she looks, this Miss Florence----"

"Aspeden?" added Fane. "Yes, quite. But here are my quarters; so good
night, old fellow."

We had soon established ourselves as _amis de la maison_ at Woodlands,
the Aspedens' place, and found him, as his nephew had stated, "rather a
brick," and her daughter and niece something more. All of us, especially
Fane and I, spent the best part of our time there, lounging away the
days between the shady lanes, the little lake, and the music or
billiard-rooms. Fane seemed entirely to appropriate Florence, and to
fascinate her as he had fascinated so many others. I really felt angry
with him; for, as Tom Cleaveland had candidly told me that poor Florie
had not a rap--her father had run through all his property and left her
an orphan, and a very poor one too--of course Fane could not marry her,
but would, I feared, "ride away" some day, like the "gay dragoon,"
heartwhole _himself_--but would _she_ come out as scatheless? Poor
Mounteagle, too, was getting quite spooney about Florence, and, owing to
Fane, she paid him no more heed than if he had been an old dried-up
Ind