The gates are thrown wide open, and the carriage rollssmoothly down the long dark avenue, beneath the wavingbranches of the tall elms and the copper beeches, throughwhich the dying sun is flinging its parting rays.
The horses, sniffing the air of home, fling up their headsand make still greater haste, until presently, rounding thecurve, they draw up before the hall door.
It stands open, and on the high, stone steps that lead to it,a very pretty girl looks down upon the carriage from underher palm, with a face eager and expectant. When she hasbarely glanced at it, she says, "Ah!" in a tone of deep satisfaction,and running down the steps and over the gravel,turns the handle of the carriage door and looks anxiously atits occupant.
"You have come," she says, cheerily. "I was so afraidsomething might have prevented you."
The person she addresses—a girl about two years olderthan herself, says:
"Yes, I have come," in a tone slow and sweet, almost tolanguor.
"So glad," says the pretty girl, with a smile that must be one[2]of her sweetest charms, it is so full of life and gaiety; "comeout of this dreadful old sarcophagus and upstairs with me; Ihave your tea in your own room for you."
Miss Vibart, stepping out of the brougham, follows herhostess into the house, through the grand old hall, and upthe wide, oak staircase, into a room huge and old-fashioned—butdelicious and cozy, and comfortable to the lastdegree.
Having cast one hasty glance round the apartment, MissVibart turns to her young hostess—
"You are Dulcinea? isn't it?" she says, questioningly.
"Yes, I am Dulcinea as a rule—(may I be your maid, justfor once—you will be so much happier without your hat)—butI have so many other names, that it takes me all my timeto remember which one I really belong to. Uncle Christophercalls me Baby! and Mark Gore, when he is here, callsme Duchess, and Dicky Browne calls me Tom, and Rogercalls me—I really quite forget what it is Roger calls me,"with a slight shrug of her shoulders.
"Is Dicky Browne your fiancé?" asks Miss Vibart, uncertainly;"I know you are engaged to somebody; AuntieMaud told me that."
"Dicky Browne! Oh, no!" Then, with the gayest littlelaugh in the world, "If you could only see Dicky Browne!He couldn't, by any possibility, be anybody's fiancé! Youmean Roger, I suppose." But, with a quick frown and atouch of petulance, "Don't let us talk about him. He issuch a worry, and has been making himself so exceedinglyunpleasant all the morning!"
Miss Vibart stares, forgetting her usually very charmingmanners for the moment, and then drops her heavily-fringedlids over her eyes.
"By-the-by," says Dulce, breaking in upon what threatensto be an awkward pause, "how d'ye do? I don't believe Ihave said that yet." Her whole tone and expression havechanged as if by magic; the suggestion of