Lady Bell had stared, had repressed an inclination to titter, had taken another view of the case, and given way, in spite of every effort, to a dreary girlish sense of self-abandonment, and of being inevitably swamped in this overflow of homely folly. What a companion after the great actress! Lady Bell was fain to prick her ears at the sound of an approaching light firm footstep, and decently cultivated ringing voice. “Are you there, Deb?” called the voice unceremoniously. “I suppose you han’t got your serving and talking commodity yet, as I don’t sight any traces of her. Deb, come out this minute, and look at my partridges.” “Lawk-a-daisy, there’s brother from his shooting, and I’ve forgot to have a toast and tankard ready for him,” exclaimed Miss Kingscote, ambling out of the parlour. CHAPTER XVII. MASTER CHARLES. There was a whispered colloquy outside the door, succeeded by the entrance of a frank, open-faced young fellow, looking very comely in his green coat, and yet retaining a comical likeness to Miss Kingscote. The gentleman was coming up freely to Lady Bell, prepared to regard her as an acquisition, in the profits of which he was entitled to a share. He was not going to address her with the formal “I have the honour,” or “Your servant,” but with a friendly jocular “Good morning to you, Miss Barlowe, now that you have come to hand. Don’t let my sister and you put out your bright eyes with fine stitching,” when he, too, was induced to reverse the usual order of greeting to a companion, though making his amendment on more intelligent principles than those which had influenced Miss Kingscote. Instead of speaking at all, he gave Lady Bell an amazed confused bow in return for her perfectly calm curtsey, and turned aside muttering to himself, “By George, she is a highflyer, and no mistake, she must be a tragedy queen herself.” Miss Kingscote was senselessly elated by the manner in which her companion struck Master Charles. “Don’t you go for to contradict me again,” said his sister, with a meaning chuckle, shaking her fat finger at the lad; “mum’s the word, but we’ve all heard tell of pearls before swine.” Lady Bell, in spite of her former heroics, was rather pleased to see in the dire dearth of sympathy which threatened to prevail in other quarters at Nutfield, that Master Charles, as his sister generally styled him, even in addressing him with simple honour and doting fondness, was personable and companionable.