went, and during the few minutes that he spent in dressing
little or nothing was spoke in the library. The parson in his heart
was not pleased by the enthusiasm with which the young man greeted
this new cousin; and yet, why should he not be enthusiastic if it was
intended that they should be man and wife?

"Now, Lady Anna," said the rector, as he offered her his arm to lead
her out to dinner. It was but a mild corrective to the warmth of his
nephew. The lord lingered a moment with his aunt in the library.

"Have you not got beyond that with her yet?" he asked.

"Your uncle is more old fashioned than you are, Fred. Things did not
go so quick when he was young."

In the evening he came and lounged on a double-seated ottoman behind
her, and she soon found herself answering a string of questions. Had
she been happy at Yoxham? Did she like the place? What had she been
doing? "Then you know Mrs. Grimes already?" She laughed as she said
that she did know Mrs. Grimes. "The lion of Yoxham is Mrs. Grimes.
She is supposed to have all the misfortunes and all the virtues to
which humanity is subject. And how do you and Minnie get on? Minnie
is my prime minister. The boys, I suppose, teased you out of your
life?"

"I did like them so much! I never knew a boy till I saw them, Lord
Lovel."

"They take care to make themselves known, at any rate. But they are
nice, good-humoured lads,--taking after their mother. Don't tell
their father I said so. Do you think it pretty about here?"

"Beautifully pretty."

"Just about Yoxham,--because there is so much wood. But this is not
the beautiful part of Yorkshire, you know. I wonder whether we could
make an expedition to Wharfedale and Bolton Abbey. You would say that
the Wharfe was pretty. We'll try and plan it. We should have to sleep
out one night; but that would make it all the jollier. There isn't a
better inn in England than the Devonshire arms;--and I don't think a
pleasanter spot. Aunt Jane,--couldn't we go for one night to Bolton
Abbey?"

"It is very far, Frederic."

"Thirty miles or so;--that ought to be nothing in Yorkshire. We'll
manage it. We could get post-horses from York, and the carriage
would take us all. My uncle, you must know, is very chary about
the carriage horses, thinking that the corn of idleness,--which is
destructive to young men and women,--is very good for cattle. But
we'll manage it, and you shall jump over the Stryd." Then he told
her the story how the