When Lady Margaret arrived she did not look like a person who would be in anybody’s way, and even Carlo did not insist on sitting at attention, and refusing in a melancholy manner to be at home in her company. She was a very quiet, very shy, very young girl—on first acquaintance almost too quiet, shy, and young for the countess’s purpose, she feared. Lady Margaret required to be drawn out herself in place of drawing out De Vaux; and she was hardly even pretty, for her fair hair had been cut out on account of an illness, and was only half-grown and thin; while she was as thin as her hair, and so pale, that she resembled a wan, washed-out little ghost. My lady felt disappointed. If the countess and De Vaux had known it, poor Lady Margaret was undergoing a severe ordeal, and was suffering, without any sign, agonies of _mauvais honte_ and of incipient home sickness. It was the first time that she had been away among strangers without either her mother or her governess. She was naturally timid, and she had only recently recovered from a bad illness which had shaken her nerves. Everything was strange and overwhelming to her; even the sound of her own titled name startled her, seeing that she was accustomed to be called Peggy at home. The countess was very kind, and De Vaux looked a _preux chevalier_; but Lady Margaret did not know them, and they did not know her. She could not tell in the least how they should ever become acquainted, or how she should get over the weeks she must spend at the castle. But mamma had wished her to come. Berry had said the change would be good for her, and she knew she was a silly, spoilt girl. No doubt the trial was beneficial, and she ought to make the best of it. The best was within the reach of a creature so humble, so full of good-will and generous enthusiasm, in spite of her bashfulness and nervousness. In a marvellously short time Lady Margaret began to be reconciled to her situation, and to get the better of its disadvantages. Every day she was a fresh surprise to my lady and De Vaux—she opened up into such brightness and bonniness, as well as sweetness, before their admiring eyes. The girl’s health was profiting by the change, combined with the friendliness of her entertainers. She was coming out in her natural colours of innocent trustfulness and happiness. My lady was getting as fond of her as if Lady Margaret had been the countess’s daughter.