“Goodness! Charlie, how you _have_ been smoking,” exclaims Blanche, after their first affectionate greeting, while she shrinks a little from the cousinly embrace somewhat redolent of tobacco; “and how you’re grown, dear--I suppose you don’t like to be told you are grown now--and moustaches, I declare,” she adds, bursting out laughing, as she catches Charlie’s budding honours _en profil_; “’pon my word they’re a great improvement.” Charlie winced a little. There is always a degree of awkwardness even amongst the nearest and dearest, when people meet after a long absence, and the less artificial the character, the more it betrays itself; but Blanche was in great spirits and rattled on, till the General made his appearance, bustling in perfectly radiant with hospitality. “Glad to see ye, my lad--glad to see ye; have been expecting ye this half-hour--trains always late--and always _will_ be till they hang a director--I’ve hanged many a man for less, myself, ‘up the country.’ Fact, Blanche, I assure you. You’ll have lots of time to dress,” he observed, glancing at the clock’s white face shining in the fire-light--and adding, with a playful dig of his fingers into Charlie’s lean ribs, “We dine in half-an-hour, _temps militaire_, you dog! We must teach you that punctuality and good commissariat are the two first essentials for a soldier.” So the General rang a peal for hand candles that might have brought a house down. And Charlie was well acquainted with all the inmates of Newton-Hollows save Mrs. Delaval. Of her he had often heard Blanche speak as the most delightful of companions, and indulgent of governesses, but he had never set eyes on her in person; so as he effected his tie before the glass, and drew his fingers over those precious moustaches to discover if change of air had already influenced their growth, he began to speculate on the character and appearance of the lady who was to complete their family party. “A middle-aged woman,” thought Charlie--for Blanche, on whom some ten years of seniority made a great impression, had always described her as such--“forty, or thereabouts--stout, jolly-looking and good-humoured, I’ll be bound--I know I shall like her--wears a cap, I’ve no doubt, and a front, too, most probably--sits very upright, and talks like a book, till one knows her well--spectacles, I shouldn’t wonder (it’s no use making much of a tie for _her_)--pats Blanche on the shoulder when she gives her precedence, and keeps her hands in black lace mittens, I’ll bet a hundred!” With which mental wager Master Charlie blew his candles out, and swaggered down-stairs, feeling in his light evening costume, as indeed he looked, well-made, well-dressed, and extremely like a gentleman.