to shake hands with Blanche and
Captain Bloxam, and be by them presented to the remainder of the party.

Pansey Cottrell could scarce refrain from laughing outright as he
advanced to shake hands with Sylla Chipchase, the identical young lady
whom he had met last autumn in Suffolk, and who had now turned up at
Todborough, looking more provokingly pretty than ever. He had caught
one glance of his hostess's face; and, behind the scenes as he was,
that had been so nearly too much for his risible faculties that he
dared not hazard another. As he advanced to shake hands with Miss
Sylla, he felt that the Fates had been even more unkind to Lady Mary
than she could as yet be possibly aware of; for he remembered at
Hogden's that Miss Sylla had not only been voted the belle of a party
containing two or three very pretty women, but had also enchanted the
men by her fun, vivacity, and singing. Poor Lady Mary! it was hard, in
spite of all her efforts to secure a clear field, to find her daughter
suddenly confronted by such a formidable rival.

"We meet again, you see, Miss Sylla," said Cottrell, as they shook
hands. "I told you in Suffolk, if you remember, that in my ubiquity I
was a person very difficult to see the last of."

"And who that had ever met Mr. Cottrell would wish to have seen the
last of him?" replied the young lady gaily. "We had great fun together
in Suffolk, and I hope we are going to have great fun together in
Fernshire. My cousins tell me there are no end of balls and dances to
come off in the course of the next ten days."

"Dear me!" replied Mr. Cottrell, his eyes twinkling with the fun of the
situation. "This is all very well for you country people, Miss Sylla;
but we poor Londoners have come down for rest after a spell of hot
rooms and late hours, preparatory to encountering fresh dissipations.
Is it not so, Lady Mary? Did you not promise me quiet and country air,
with a dash of the salt water in it?"

"Of course," was the reply; "we have come down here to recruit."

"Oh, but, Lady Mary, you will never shut yourself up and turn recluse,"
returned the elder Miss Chipchase. "You must come to the Commonstone
ball on Easter Monday; you will all come, of course. I quite count
upon you, Captain Bloxam."

"Perfectly right, Miss Chipchase," replied the dragoon, with a glance
of unmistakable admiration at the new importation. "Did you ever know
me fail you in valsing? and are not the soldiers of to-day