Neither their mother’s creed, then, nor any undue trace of her blood, had clung to George and Amelia. The former was a particularly silent and undemonstrative young man, and Amelia, under her more Gallic exterior, had the same equable temperament. Kind, sensible, practical, spirited, she had ruled her father’s house since she could remember, and would shortly rule Mr Philip Harbenden’s and make him an excellent wife, though she was very little in love with him. He loved her and required taking care of, which was sufficient. Eight years ago her heart had gone out to the taciturn French cousin, who was already affianced and whom she had never seen again. It had never wholly returned to her. Nobody suspected this, and she never intended that they should, having put the episode behind her, in all the maturity of her four-and-twenty years, as a foible of her girlhood. * * * * * * The letter which Trenchard bore to Ashley Court, although he had delivered it immediately upon his arrival, preceded by but a few days another from the same writer, dated this time from Chantemerle, and announcing to Sir William the approaching advent of his sister-in-law. Two days later that worthy man, who had not expected her so soon, was gone to meet her on her landing and to bring her to Suffolk. On the day of the Marquise’s arrival Lucienne, restless and rather nervous, was trying to read _Sir Charles Grandison_ in her own room, when she heard, from the front of the house, a faint crunching of wheels on gravel. She abandoned Harriet Byron in the midst of her abduction, looked in the glass to see that her hair was in order, and went slowly downstairs. In the hall a group composed of Sir William, Amelia, and George, already surrounded the Marquise, very stately in a full cloak of dull purple silk and a hood. At a little distance stood her maid. Sir William’s setter leapt about the party, and his master’s voice, as usual, dominated the rest. “’Pon my soul, Madame, ’tis no use denying it—you must be tired. Down, Rover, down; confound the dog! Take him away, George, for God’s sake! Amelia, your aunt’s room is ready, ain’t it? Come, my lady, Amelia will show you the way. But where is Miss Lucy?” “Here, mon oncle,” said Lucienne, coming forward, and the group opened for her. The Marquise threw back her hood. “My child!” she exclaimed, as she folded her future daughter-in-law in an embrace at once warm and dignified. Then she looked at her kindly, said that she hoped the English air would soon put roses in her cheeks, and was borne off by Amelia to her room. She supped in that apartment, and afterwards Lucienne, at her request, went up to see her. She found the Marquise seated in an arm-chair, all traces of travel effaced, her plentiful white hair arranged to perfection. Her maid was unpacking her trunks.