ou were so set on it and discontented at home, and indeed I
do not blame you, for I know how dull it is here. However, just at
present the neighbourhood is very lively, as we have a new lord of the
manor--only imagine it! You know old Mr. Crossthwaite died in the spring
and the place has been sold this summer to a very rich young
man--_trade_, I think, but _quite_ a gentleman; you would never know the
difference, and has been educated at Cambridge, I am told. He seems a
quite nice young man, and all the neighbours are making him give parties
and giving them themselves, I believe to try and marry him to one of
their daughters, but as you know there is nobody much here now. There
are Dr. Smythe's daughters, but they are so very plain, poor dears! and
the only others are Lady Geraldine and Lady Sybil, and I don't suppose
they would look at him, being so much older and occupied in their
charities, even if he were inclined, so I'm sure we can't blame the
young man if he refuses to fall in love at all down here. If you were
here I expect it would be a very different story; he's just your type,
if you know what I mean, very like your Mr. Bellew, poor young man. I
wonder what has happened to him. I did hear he married a barmaid, and
I'm sure it was a judgment on his mother for saying he was too young to
marry you. Well, there is no more news, except that that silly little
housemaid I got a good place for at the Hall is in trouble--the
gamekeeper, I believe; but she is very obstinate and won't say. These
girls are enough to make one give up trying to help them. Also the
carpet in the drawing-room is right _through_ at last, so I am in hopes
of persuading your father we really must have a new one. I don't think
it looks at all well for the rector of the parish to have a carpet that
callers have to be warned not to catch their feet in. The rug cannot be
made to cover it as it's right in the middle. I do my best with an
occasional table, but then that gets in the way. With love, my dear
Blanche, from myself and your father, believe me,

"Yours affectionately,

"MARY LETITIA GREY."

* * * * *

This was the letter that had flashed like a ray of sun into the scheme
of things for Blanche, and whose salient portions--by which she meant
those directly affecting herself--she repeated over and over. "A very
rich young man ... educated at Cambridge, I am told ... cannot blame the
poor young man if he does