As for Lydia herself, after the little excitement of the arrival, and the pleasure of bringing this new cousin to her mother--the most delightful present that could be thought--of she subsided sedately into her usual life, and treated him as a new companion, not doubting his interest in her simple occupations. His servant came over from Wyburgh with his baggage, which was a shock to the primitive household; but as the man was rather in charge of the horse than of his master, and that is a point on which princes and grooms may fraternise, the alarm was soon over. Brotherton wanted, it appeared, to find a shooting box, a little place in which he could establish himself for the autumn. He explained that he was not rich enough to aspire to a Scotch moor, and modestly permitted it to be understood that the Duke’s youngest son was his intimate friend, and that it was chiefly to be near him, and share his shootings, that he had chosen this part of the world. With the hospitality of primitive regions, Ralph Joscelyn would have taken him in permanently, and allowed him to be an inmate of the White House; but his wife retained enough of her old breeding to see that this expedient was undesirable, even though her heart stirred faintly with a hope that in that case the Duchess might have called, which is the chief sign of belonging to the aristocracy in these countries. The Duchess had never given her this sign of recognition, which had been a life-long smart to the poor lady. What did she care about such distinctions now? but yet for the sake of Liddy, she said to herself. To have her Lydia asked to a ball at the Castle would indeed be something to reward her for living, to make her feel that now she could die in peace. Mrs. Joscelyn did not say anything about this hope--for the disappointment, if nothing came of it, would have been very severe she felt, too great a trial to expose her child to: but she cherished it in her heart of hearts. And in the meantime they made every effort they could to find for this new relation the lodging he wanted. It was Lydia at last who suggested the old Birrenshead, the house which had been Uncle Harry’s, but which had not been inhabited by anybody but Isaac Oliver in the memory of man. “It is a very tumble-down old place,” she said, deprecating, “but it is only two miles from here.”