h a meal of potatoes!

As the day broke, he was roused from his light sleep by the tumult and
noise of the departing guests. He arose and watched them through the
half-closed jalousies. It was picturesque enough, in that crisp, fresh,
frosty air, to see the groups as they gathered on the long terrace
before the door; while equipages the most varied drew up,--here a
family-coach with long-tailed "blacks;" there a smart britschka, with
spanking grays; a tandem, too, there was for Mark's special handling;
and, conspicuous by its pile of luggage in the "well," stood Gambier
Graham's outside jaunting-car,--a large basket of vegetables and fruit,
and a hamper of lobsters, showing how such guests are propitiated, even
in the hours of leave-taking.

Maitland watched Isabella in all her little attentive cares to Mrs.
Maxwell, and saw, as he thought, the heir-expectant in every movement.
He fancied that the shawl she carried on her arm was the old lady's,
and was almost vexed when he saw her wrap it around her own shoulders.
"Well, that at least is sycophancy," muttered he, as he saw her clutch
up a little white Maltese terrier and kiss it; but, alas for his
prescience! the next moment she had given the dog to a servant to carry
back into the house; and so it was her own that she was parting from,
and not Mrs. Maxwell's that she was caressing!

It is strange to say that he was vexed at being disappointed. She was
very pretty, very well-mannered, and very pleasing; but he longed to
find that all the charm and grace about her were conventional; he wished
to believe that "the whole thing," as he called life, was a mere trick,
where all cheated in proportion to their capacities. Mark had been
honest enough to own that they were fortune-hunting, and Isabella
certainly could not be ignorant of the stake she played for.

One by one the carriages drew up and moved away, and now Gambier
Graham's car stood before the door, alone; for the crowd of footmen who
had thronged to press their services on the others, gradually melted
away, hopeless of exacting a blackmail from the old Commodore. While
Maitland stood watching the driver, who, in a composite sort of costume,
rather more gardener than coachman, amused himself flicking with his
whip imaginary flies off the old mare's neck and withers, a smart tap
came to the door; while a hasty voice called out, "May I come in?"

"Let me first hear who you are?" said Maitland.

"Commodore Graham