"Yes," said I, laughing. "That is the gallant old Earl of Crawford, who led the Scottish Horse Guards in Flanders." "And that dapper little man in the orange-coloured suit, whom he is now presenting?" "The Chevalier Chassegras de Lery, the _first_ of his Majesty's new Canadian subjects that has appeared in London, where, I can assure you, he is greatly run after. He was wounded in the siege of Quebec, and assisted to bury the Marquis of Montcalm. But look you, cousin, look!" continued Aurora, laughing and blushing behind her large scarlet fan; "do you see that grim-looking old gentlewoman in green brocade?" "Whom a bishop is presenting--yes." "The late king died in her arms. She is the Countess of Yarmouth." "Sophia de Walmoden!" "Yes. Listen!--she is returning thanks for her pension of 4000_l_. per annum, for services rendered to his Majesty's royal grandfather. For all his victories over the French the brave Sir Edward Hawke gets exactly _half_ that sum." With some interest I surveyed this old personage in paint, patches, and brocade; she who had wrought poor Charters such mischief in his youth when he was about eighteen, and she perhaps six and thirty. But now the dusk was setting in; I missed his grace of Argyle, or perhaps he thought his duty to me ended at the foot of the throne, and it was an odd coincidence that Aurora also lost her chaperone, Lady Ancrum; thus I had to escort her to the Palace-gate. "You must come to Netherwood for the shooting, Basil," said she, as we traversed the long corridors of the palace; "at the Hall I keep a strange souvenir of you," she continued, laughing--"an old blunderbuss--do you remember it?" "No." "You cannot have forgotten that night on Wandsworth Common, and the old blunderbuss which so terrified John Trot?" "How could I forget the first time I met you, Aurora!--but here is your chair." Two yeomen of the guard made way for us with their partisans; John Trot was in attendance with cane and link, as I handed Aurora into her sedan, hooped-petticoat, skirt, _toupée_ and all. "While in London, Basil, remember that you make our house in Piccadilly your home." "_Our!_" thought I in perplexity, as two soft hands held mine during this speech, and two blue eyes looked kindly into mine. I was becoming a timid fellow again, or I know not what privilege of cousinship I might have claimed had we been elsewhere than amid that crowd at Kensington Palace-gate. "I live in Piccadilly with an old lady-friend, or rather, I should say she lives with me--my companion, an officer's widow. You will lunch with us to-morrow--two is the hour, and we shall expect you. Adieu." She was borne off at a trot by her chairmen in the Gauntlet livery, while I set out on foot to return to "mine inn," the King George the Third, in Pall Mall. CHAPTER XXI. COUSIN AURORA.