She was not accustomed to lords, and the mother’s mind jumped at once to the vain, but so usual idea, that this lord, who had himself sought the acquaintance, might be of use to her son. She brought forward George, who was a little dazzled too; and it was not till the party had been swept into the veranda, where the family sat in the evening, that Mrs Gaunt became aware that Frances had followed, the last of the train, and had seated herself on the outskirts of the group, no one paying any heed to her. Even then, she was too much under the influence of the less known visitors to do anything to put this right. “I am delighted that you think me kind,” said Markham, in answer to the assurances which Mrs Gaunt kept repeating, not knowing what to say. “My step-father is not of that opinion at all. Neither will you be, I fear, when you know my mission. I have come for Frances.” “For Frances!” she cried, with a little suppressed scream of dismay. “Ah, I said you would not be of that opinion long,” Markham said. “Is Frances going away?” said the old General. “I don’t think we can stand that. Eh, George? that is not what your mother promised you. Frances is all we have got to remind us that we were young once. Waring must hear reason. He must not let her go away.” “Frances is going; but Constance stays,” interposed that young lady. “General, I hope you will adopt me in her stead.” “That I will,” said the old soldier; “that is, I will adopt you in addition, for we cannot give up Frances. Though, if it is only for a short visit, if you pledge yourself to bring her back again, I suppose we will have to give our consent.” “Not I,” said Mrs Gaunt under her breath. She whispered to her son, “Go and talk to her. This is not Frances; _that_ is Frances,” leaning over his shoulder. George did not mean to shake off her hand; but he made a little impatient movement, and turned the other way to Constance, to whom he made some confused remark.