ll have
a morning together. You know every one here? Who is that with all the
medals on his coat?"

"General Carnwroth; and that old woman with the blue turban is his wife;
and these are the Grimsbys; and that short man with the bald head
is Holmes of Narrow Bank, and the good-looking girl there is his
niece,--and heiress too."

"What red arms she has!" whispered Maitland.

"So they are, by Jove!" said Graham, laughing; "and I never noticed it
before."

"Take me in to dinner," said Mrs. Trafford, in a low voice, as she swept
past Maitland.

"I can't. Mrs. Maxwell has ordered me to give her my arm," said he,
following her; and they went along for some paces, conversing.

"Have you made your peace with the Grahams?" asked she, smiling half
maliciously.

"In a fashion; at least, I have put off the settling-day."

"If you take to those morning rambles again with the fair Rebecca, I
warn you it will not be so easy to escape an explanation. Here's Mrs.
Maxwell come to claim you."

Heaving with fat and velvet and bugles and vulgar good-humor, the old
lady leaned heavily on Maitland's arm, really proud of her guest, and
honestly disposed to show him that she deemed his presence an honor. "It
seems like a dream to me," said she, "to see you here after reading of
your name so often in the papers at all the great houses in England. I
never fancied that old Tilney would be so honored."

It was not easy to acknowledge such a speech, and even Maitland's
self-possession was pushed to its last limits by it; but this awkward
feeling soon passed away under the genial influence of the pleasant
dinner. And it was as pleasant a dinner as good fare and good wine and a
well-disposed company could make it.

At first a slight sense of reserve, a shade of restraint, seemed to hold
conversation in check, and more particularly towards where Maitland sat,
showing that a certain dread of him could be detected amongst those who
would have fiercely denied if charged with such a sentiment.

The perfect urbanity, tinctured, perhaps, with a sort of racy humor,
with which Maitland acknowledged the old Commodore's invitation to
take wine with him, did much to allay this sense of distrust. "I say,
Maitland," cried he, from the foot of the table, "are you too great a
dandy to drink a glass of wine with me?"

A very faint flush colored Maitland's cheek, but a most pleasant
smile played on his mouth as he said, "I am delighted, my dear
Commod