I laughed, kissed her, and entered the light and elegant open carriage in which Mrs. Brand had condescendingly come to visit her obscure little cousin. CHAPTER XV. There is a way of leaning back in an open carriage which only those accustomed to its use can attain--a sort of well-bred indolence--of riding over the world--of indifference to its concerns, which requires long and constant practice. Mrs. Brand possessed that art in the highest degree. Walking in the street, she would have seemed a thin, faded, insignificant woman; but, reclining in her carriage, with her _ennuy?_ air, her carelessness, and her impertinence, she was stamped with aristocracy. We had soon reached Poplar Lodge. It stood about a mile from the Grove, by the lanes, and twice that distance by the high road. I knew the place well--it was small, but the most beautiful residence in the neighbourhood. It stood in the centre of lovely pleasure-grounds--a white and elegant abode, filled with all that could charm the fancy and attract the eye. Pictures, statues, books, furniture, simple yet costly, were there, without that profusion which mars the effect of the most beautiful things. Mrs. Brand perceived my admiration, and led me from room to room with careless ostentation. At length, we came to a small gallery, filled with exquisite pictures. "There are not many," she said, negligently, "but they are good. All modern, and almost all English. The blank spaces which you see will, I dare say, be filled up from this year's Academy." My heart beat fast. I thought at once of Cornelius, and I saw his three pictures already hung up in my cousin's gallery. "And so you like Poplar Lodge," observed Mrs. Brand, taking me back to the drawing-room. "Well, it is a pretty place. And don't you think," she added, sighing as she glanced around her, "that Edward's wife will be a happy woman?" "I don't know, Ma'am; but I know she will have a lovely house, and delightful chairs, too," I added, sinking down, as I spoke, into a most luxurious arm-chair. "My dear, she will have what one who speaks from experience can assure you is far above such worldly comforts--a devoted husband." Mrs. Brand's cambric handkerchief was drawn forth, unfolded, and raised to her eyes in memory of the departed. "And Mrs. Langton and this place will suit one another so well," I said, looking round the luxurious drawing-room. "I can fancy her wandering about those grounds as lovely as a lady in a fairy tale, or passing from one beautiful room to another, like a princess in her palace. She will be the crowning piece of perfection of Mr. Thornton's dwelling." Mrs. Brand hastily removed her handkerchief, and assured me: "That was over--quite over; a most unfortunate affair. It had once been her darling wish to see her friend and her brother united; but even she had felt it was impossible. They had felt it themselves, and had agreed to forget the past."