Then there had been disagreements respecting expenditure, arrangements, guests of which he disapproved; but in these little encounters, the lady had invariably the best of it; she never lost her self-command, or her temper; but she wept in a subdued and becoming fashion, and Lord Mulgrave was a coward in the presence of a woman in tears, therefore he relinquished his sceptre for the sake of peace. And yet, though he was indifferent to her, she was jealous--jealous of the beautiful French wife, whose memory he had enshrined, jealous of the poor little treasures which he hoarded, of the miniature that he carried with him whenever he left home, were it but for a day! Now, like a thunderbolt from the skies, this Frenchwoman’s daughter--her living, breathing image--had crossed the threshold of her life. Already she was sensible of a hot dislike of the girl (though, of course, no one should ever suspect it). She would play her cards cautiously, pose as the sweetest of stepmothers, and, as soon as possible, marry her off. With that face and figure there would be little difficulty, unless the creature was an absolute idiot! She could see that Joseline was pitiably nervous, and no doubt would have been a thousand times happier in the servants’ hall. It was true she ate but little; and by degrees ventured to look about her. The presence of her father at the foot of the table--of Tito, chattering directly opposite--emboldened her, and she glanced at the company one by one. There was her aunt, handsome, gracious, and stately, with her white hair beautifully waved, her plump hands sparkling with rings; she looked kind. There were her cousins--fresh Scotch girls--wearing tam-o’-shanters and tweeds; three clean-shaven young men, rather like a set; and a pretty dark girl from the Rectory. They were all eagerly talking golf--discussing putting, ties, bunkers. To Joseline it was the purest gibberish, but to the company it seemed a topic of the most vital interest. Even Lady Maxwelton was eloquent, and bragged of “our greens.” Her immediate neighbours had only addressed one or two remarks to the new importation. They were charitable, Christian people, and realised that it was kinder to leave her unnoticed--and to permit the poor girl “to find herself.” After lunch, the six ladies adjourned to coffee in the little drawing-room, and here the marchioness and her daughters gathered round and made friends with their new cousin. Such a pretty, blushing, timid creature, with her soft southern brogue! And what a likeness to her mother! By-and-by Joseline rose, in hopes of making her escape; but Lady Mulgrave, with an imperative gesture, motioned her to her side, and, looking up with half-closed eyes, exclaimed, “Now you must talk to _me_ a little, dear girl.” Joseline sat down in embarrassed silence. “Dearest child, I really do think you so wonderful.” A pause, and she blew a cloud. “Six weeks ago you were in a cabin. It is extraordinary, is it not?”