ter with her, and thus cheer her
loneliness, that it was decided that I must accept the invitation. It
was the custom then for many of the local country gentry to visit the
great provincial towns for their 'seasons' instead of undertaking the
long journey to the metropolis. York, and many another country town, is
still full of the fine old 'town houses' of the local gentry, who now go
to London to 'bring out' their young daughters; but who, in the former
days, were content with the gaieties offered by their own provincial
capital. Very lively and pleasant were the 'seasons' of the country
towns in my youth; and I think there was more real hospitality and
sociability found among the country neighbours than one meets with in
London society nowadays. I, of course, was delighted at the prospect of
exchanging the dull life of our little village for the gaieties of York;
but when it actually came to saying good-bye to my parents, from whom I
had never yet been separated, I was half inclined to wish that Aunt
Maria's invitation had been refused. Farmer Gray, who was to drive me to
the neighbouring town, where I should join the coach, was very kind; and
pretended not to see how I was crying under my veil. We lumbered along
the narrow lanes and at length reached the little market town where I
was deposited at the 'Blue Boar' to have some tea and await the arrival
of the mail. I had often watched the coach dash up, and off again, when
visiting the town with my father; but it seemed like a dream that I,
Dolly Harcourt, was now actually to be a passenger in the conveyance.
The dusk of a winter's evening was gathering as the mail came in sight,
its red lamps gleaming through the mist. Ostlers prided themselves upon
the celerity with which the change of horses was effected, and
passengers were expected to be equally quick; I was bustled inside (my
place had been taken days previously) before I had time to think twice.
Fortunately, as I thought, remembering the long night journey which lay
before me, I found the interior of the coach empty, several passengers
having just alighted; but, as I settled myself in one corner, two
figures hurried up, a short man, and a woman in a long cloak and
poke-bonnet, with a thick veil over her face.

"'Just in time,' cried the man. 'Yes, I've booked two places, Mr. Jones
and Miss Jenny,' and the pair stumbled in just as the impatient horses
started.

"'Miss Jenny.' Well, I was glad that I was not to