Here Mrs. Braefield, beginning to speak very hurriedly, as women who seek to disguise emotion often do, informed Kenelm how unhappy she had felt for weeks after having found an asylum with her aunt,--how she had been stung by remorse and oppressed by a sense of humiliation at the thought of her folly and the odious recollection of Mr. Compton,--how she had declared to herself that she would never marry any one now--never! How Mr. Braefield happened to be on a visit in the neighbourhood, and saw her at church,--how he had sought an introduction to her,--and how at first she rather disliked him than not; but he was so good and so kind, and when at last he proposed--and she had frankly told him all about her girlish flight and infatuation--how generously he had thanked her for a candour which had placed her as high in his esteem as she had been before in his love. “And from that moment,” said Mrs. Braefield, passionately, “my whole heart leaped to him. And now you know all; and here we are at the Lodge.” The pony-phaeton went with great speed up a broad gravel-drive, bordered with rare evergreens, and stopped at a handsome house with a portico in front, and a long conservatory at the garden side,--one of those houses which belong to “city gentlemen,” and often contain more comfort and exhibit more luxury than many a stately manorial mansion. Mrs. Braefield evidently felt some pride as she led Kenelm through the handsome hall, paved with Malvern tiles and adorned with Scagliola columns, and into a drawing-room furnished with much taste and opening on a spacious flower-garden. “But where is Mr. Braefield?” asked Kenelm. “Oh, he has taken the rail to his office; but he will be back long before dinner, and of course you dine with us.” “You’re very hospitable, but--” “No buts: I will take no excuse. Don’t fear that you shall have only mutton-chops and a rice-pudding; and, besides, I have a children’s party coming at two o’clock, and there will be all sorts of fun. You are fond of children, I am sure?” “I rather think I am not. But I have never clearly ascertained my own inclinations upon that subject.” “Well, you shall have ample opportunity to do so to-day. And oh! I promise you the sight of the loveliest face that you can picture to yourself when you think of your future wife.” “My future wife, I hope, is not yet born,” said Kenelm, wearily, and with much effort suppressing a yawn. “But at all events, I will stay till after two o’clock; for two o’clock, I presume, means luncheon.” Mrs. Braefield laughed. “You retain your appetite?” “Most single men do, provided they don’t fall in love and become doubled up.”