They were so entirely taken by surprise that a moment’s confusion occurred, no one knowing where to place him or herself. Mr. Charles, helpless and amazed, was pinned to Matilda’s side. To her other hand, Mr. Smeaton quietly looking on and enjoying the joke, led Verna, who was crimson with painful blushes, and not daring to lift her eyes. Marjory was the last to perceive the alteration that had been made. She was about to pass on to her usual place, when Fanshawe quietly stopped her, and placed her at the foot of the table. She looked up with an astonished glance, and met the triumphant eyes of the new mistress from its head. I am doubtful whether Marjory at the moment fully realized what it was. She gave a surprised look round, and then a smile passed over her face--could anyone suppose she cared for this? It hurt her a great deal less than it did Verna, who was her natural antagonist; but who thought it the most dreadful “solecism,” and wondered what people would think. “They will think we are nobodies, and know nothing,” Verna said to herself, and scarcely ventured to hold up her head. The company in general, indeed, was taken by such surprise that there was no conversation for a few minutes. Fleming’s face as he placed himself behind Mrs. Charles’s chair was a study of consternation and dismay. He carried the dishes to Marjory first, and pulled her sleeve and whispered, “You’ll no be heeding? the woman’s daft, Miss Marjory, you’re no heeding?” with an anxiety which regained him his character in Fanshawe’s eyes. “It is quite right,” said Marjory in the same undertone. “She is the mistress of the house, she was quite right. It is best she should take her place at once.” Fleming marched round the table, shaking his head. He groaned when he served the new mistress. He called her Mistress Chairles till her patience was exhausted. “Please to call me Mrs. Heriot,” she said angrily. “Oh aye, Mistress Chairles,” said Fleming, “will ye take some chicken or some mutton?” “If you do not call me by my right name I will send you away,” cried Matilda. She was “daft,” as he said, or rather intoxicated with satisfaction and triumph. “You can do that, Mistress Chairles,” said the old man indifferently, going on with his service. Deeper and deeper blushed poor Verna. Oh, what solecisms! what ignorance of the world! She did not know whether she should refrain from noticing, or whether she ought to excuse and explain her sister’s conduct. The first was the most difficult, especially as her companion, the lawyer, looked on with suppressed amusement, and noted everything. Then Matilda began to entertain her neighbours on her other side. “Is that gentleman--I don’t know his name--at the foot of the table, a relation?” she asked. “No,” said Mr. Charles, who was just now coming to the surface after his consternation, “his name is Fanshawe, he is a friend of poor Tom’s.” “Then he is engaged to Marjory, I suppose?”