Griselda was surrounded by a mother and two smart, gawky daughters, who were strangers at Bath, and were of the veritable type of "country-cousins," which was so distinct a type in the society of those days. Now refinement, or what resembles it, has penetrated into country towns and villages, and the farmers' wives and daughters of to-day are more successful in presenting themselves in what is called "good society," than were the squires' and small landed proprietors' families when "the country" districts were separated by impassable roads from frequent intercourse with the gay world beyond. These good people talked in loud resonant tones, with a decided provincial twang. "La, ma! what a fine lady that is!" said one of the girls. "Did you ever see such a hat?" "And look at the gentleman courting her!" "Hush now, my dear! He is a lord, and the t'other is a baronet." "Well, we _are_ in fine company. I wish we knew some of 'em. I say, ma----" At this moment the very stout mamma dropped her fan, and Griselda, who was nearest to it, picked it up and handed it to her with a gracious smile. "Thank you, my dear, I am sure. Won't you take a seat here?" she continued, gathering together the ample folds of her moreen pelisse trimmed with fur, and edging up to her daughters, who were on the same bench. A quick glance showed Griselda that Sir Maxwell was meditating a raid on her, so she accepted the offer, and almost at the same moment the Marchioness of Lothian appeared, and Sir Maxwell advanced to her, bowed low, and led her to a seat. At least he would show Griselda, that if she chose to slight him, a live Marchioness was of a different mind. The band now struck up, and Mrs. Greenwood beat time with her large foot, and nodded her head till the plume of feathers in her hat waved like the plumes of a palm-tree in the tropics. Her daughters did not allow the band to hinder their remarks on the company, as some promenaded up and down, and others reclined, like Lady Betty, on the crimson-covered lounges. Presently Griselda received a nudge from one of the young ladies' rather sharp elbows: "Pray, miss, who's that fine gentleman walking with? He is looking this way. Bab, don't giggle, I think he was speaking of us." "Who is the lady?" "The Marchioness of Lothian," Griselda said. "Lor', ma; do you hear?" Miss Barbara exclaimed, leaning across Griselda, "that's a Marchioness!" It really gave these good people intense pleasure to be in the same room with those who rejoiced in titles. It gave Mrs. Greenwood a sense of added importance, and made her even dream of the possibility of some lord falling in love with Bab. Thus a return to the remote country town of Widdicombe Episopi, where Mr. Greenwood farmed his own acres, and lived in a house which had come down to the Greenwoods from the time of Charles II., would be a triumphal return indeed.