It seemed to Lothair a game of great deliberation and of more interest than gayety, though sometimes a cordial cheer, and sometimes a ringing laugh of amiable derision, notified a signal triumph or a disastrous failure. But the scene was brilliant: a marvellous lawn, the duchess’s Turkish tent with its rich hangings, and the players themselves, the prettiest of all the spectacle, with their coquettish hats, and their half-veiled and half-revealed under-raiment scarlet and silver, or blue and gold, made up a sparkling and modish scene. Lothair, who had left the players for a while, and was regaining the lawn, met the duchess. “Your grace is not going to leave us, I hope?” he said, rather anxiously. “For a moment. I have long promised to visit the new dairy; and I think this a good opportunity.” “I wish I might be your companion,” said Lothair; and, invited, he was by her grace’s side. They turned into a winding walk of thick and fragrant shrubs, and, after a while, they approached a dell, surrounded with high trees that environed it with perpetual shade; in the centre of the dell was apparently a Gothic shrine, fair in design and finished in execution, and this was the duchess’s new dairy. A pretty sight is a first-rate dairy, with its flooring of fanciful tiles, and its cool and shrouded chambers, its stained windows and its marble slabs, and porcelain pans of cream, and plenteous platters of fantastically-formed butter. “Mrs. Woods and her dairy-maids look like a Dutch picture,” said the duchess. “Were you ever in Holland?” “I have never been anywhere,” said Lothair. “You should travel,” said the duchess. “I have no wish,” said Lothair. “The duke has given me some Coreean fowls,” said the duchess to Mrs. Woods, when they had concluded their visit. “Do you think you could take care of them for me?” “Well, Grace, I am sure I will do my best; but then they are very troublesome, and I was not fortunate with my Cochin. I had rather they were sent to the aviary, Grace, if it were all the same.” “I should so like to see the aviary,” said Lothair. “Well, we will go.” And this rather extended their walk, and withdrew them more from the great amusement of the day. “I wish your grace would do me a great favor,” said Lothair, abruptly breaking a rather prolonged silence. “And what is that?” said the duchess. “It is a very great favor,” repeated Lothair. “If it be in my power to grant it, its magnitude would only be an additional recommendation.” “Well,” said Lothair, blushing deeply, and speaking with much agitation, “I would ask your grace’s permission to offer my hand to your daughter.” The duchess I looked amazed. “Corisande!” she exclaimed. “Yes, to Lady Corisande.” “Corisande,” replied the duchess, after a pause, “has absolutely not yet entered the world. Corisande is a child; and you—you, my dear friend—I am sure you will pardon me If I say, so—you are not very much older than Corisande.”