When Mrs. Joscelyn perceived, with a sudden rush of blood from her heart to her head, that the honour she had been looking for all her life had actually happened to her, she rose up precipitately and fled, throwing a shawl over her head. This was partly fright, and partly resentment, and partly it was a wise impulse. The family parlour and Betty in her white apron to open the door, were not accessories which would impress the Duchess, and Mrs. Joscelyn had not much confidence in the refinement of her own appearance. She was not so bold a sinner, however, as to sit still and instruct her innocent maid to say, “Not at home,” a task to which Betty, knowing it was not true, would not have been equal. So she went out, meeting Betty trembling with excitement, tying on her clean apron as she came. “It’s the Duchess, missis!” Betty said, overwhelmed. “You will say, Not at home,” said Mrs. Joscelyn breathless. “I am going out, you see.” “Going out! Missis! and the Duchess at the door.” Betty thought it was incredible. Mrs. Joscelyn, however, deaf to remonstrance, though herself trembling with excitement, ran out upon the Fell side, and enjoyed the spectacle. She was an Englishwoman, and it is not to be supposed that the sight of the blue and yellow liveries, and the carriage with a Duchess in it, did not touch the highest feelings in her nature; and to have spoken to that Duchess, to have realised the full glory of the event, would have been sweet--but it would have been alarming too, and discretion is the better part of valour. She stood upon the rising ground with her heart beating, and gazed at the wonderful sight, visions rising before her of the ball, and the invitation for Lydia which would be sure to follow, and the ball dress, and all the excitement of so great an occasion. She breathed more freely when the great lady drove away, and she was delivered from the fear of being sent for, and compelled to come back by some dreadful mistake on Betty’s part. But Betty too had risen to the occasion. She had said trembling, but resolute, “Not at home, Sir,” to the fine footman--arguing with herself that it was quite true that Missis wasn’t at home, for hadn’t she seen her, with her own eyes, go out? Betty went out too to ease her Mistress’s mind, when the incident was over, carrying the cards in her apron. She did not like to touch them with her hands, though she had scrubbed those hands crimson only a few minutes before. “T’ gentleman said as Her Grace was sorry,” said Betty, her eyes almost out of her head with staring. “T’ gentleman” was the biggest part of the event to her; she had never in her life seen anything so grand so near. Her ruddy cheeks were crimson, and her liberal bosom palpitated. And Mrs. Joscelyn could not herself restrain a tremor when she took these sacred bits of pasteboard in her hand.