She drew a long breath, inhaling the air, sweet with the near fragrance of honeysuckle, and distant scents of ripe corn. She clasped her hands on her knees--those busy, clever hands which so seldom rested--and gazed dreamily out upon the scene. It made a pleasant picture; the red-tiled roof of the stables was beginning to glow in the warm evening light; the irregular outline of the old inn, already in shadow, was cut darkly against the limpid blue of the sky; white and grey pigeons flitted lazily hither and thither. From within the open stable doors came peaceful sounds of munching jaws, rattling chains, and now and again a stamping hoof. A fat tortoiseshell cat sat licking herself on a window sill. There was not a human creature in sight for the moment, and Miss Pounce felt quite poetic. But she was not destined to be indulged long in her rare mood for solitude. There came a clatter of hoofs, a hum of wheels along the dusty road. A high curricle swung into the yard, at the raking trot of a tall chestnut driven by a reckless hand. It was drawn up with a splash of protesting hoofs; and Pamela, suddenly pricked to interest, beheld, springing unaided from the high perch, the young lady whose erratic conduct had earned for her the sobriquet of “the Mad Brat,” Lady Selina, who had scandalised society, outraged her Royal patrons, alienated her friends, and positively stupefied her family a bare three months ago by eloping, from the very back of the Princess’s chair at the Opera, with a penniless insignificant officer of Marines of the name of Simpson. Lady Selina Simpson’s further career, though necessarily passed in comparative obscurity, had done little to lessen the aptness of the sobriquet. Much the contrary, indeed, and--Lieutenant Simpson being stationed at Weymouth--Lady Selina had had an unexpected opportunity for a display of eccentricity, which made both her elder sisters agree for once that something must be done to put a stop to Selina’s goings on--“under the very nose of the Royals, my dear; she does it on purpose to discredit us,”--even if something entailed the purchase for Lieutenant Simpson of some post pleasantly remote in the Indies. Here, then, was the Mad Brat, as naughty and modish as you please (Miss Pamela’s professional eye was quick to notice); wrapped to the ears in a military looking cloak of elegant blue, and hatted with as smart a little beaver, also of military cock, as she, Pamela, had ever seen--and that was saying a great deal. My young Lady Selina’s curls were scarcely powdered, and shone very golden under the evening light, set in flying bunches each side of her narrow, pretty, pale, impertinent face. There was something in the expression of her countenance, attractive for all its wilfulness, that made Pamela’s quick wits jump to the horrid conclusion--before even she had clapped eyes on the driver of the curricle.