Amongst Lady Millicent’s “peculiarities” (and they were not a few) that of extreme bodily restlessness was one of the most remarkable. She was one of the very busiest of idlers, never for fifteen consecutive minutes, excepting at meal or prayertime, in the same place. These “fidgety ways” were troublesome, as well as frequently inconvenient, to those about her. To know where _others_ of a household _are_, the more especially when those “others” chance to be of the nature of Lady Millicent Vavasour, is often of advantage to the subordinates of a family. Severity, Caprice, an absence on the said subordinates’ part of knowing how anything “will be taken” by the “head of the family,” are each and all sufficient to account for the secretiveness, guilty in appearance, that kindles in both children and servants the very natural desire that the whereabouts of the domestic autocrat should not always be a matter of conjecture. But it was to no inward fever, no derangement of the sensitive nerves, that the nomadic condition of the lady of Gillingham could be attributed, for her health was perfect, and her constitution sound. The erratic habit had been formed in childhood, and had increased, instead of diminishing, with advancing years. * * * * * “I say, Miss Curiosity, that won’t do. You mustn’t read other people’s letters.” Lady Millicent had glided with her accustomed stately step from the room; and Horace, in whose hand was Mr. Duberly’s open letter, glanced up at his sister Kate reading over his shoulder the epistle which her lady mother was either too autocratic or too indolent to answer. Kate’s colour, between shame and amusement, mounted visibly. Although taught by experience that his “bark was worse than his bite,” she was still a little afraid of her brother Horace. “I thought everybody was to read it,” she said deprecatingly. “Don’t be ill-natured, Horace; I do so want to know about Atty.” “I daresay you do; and if you did, why everybody else would pretty soon be in the secret, and with a vengeance too! No, no, Miss Katie; a young lady who chatters to her maid is neither old enough nor wise enough to be told family secrets to--so off with you! If you want anything to do go to the terrace, and keep a good look-out for Arthur; tell him there’s a row going on, and that he’d better look sharp, and take the bull by the horns.” “And now for old Dub’s letter,” muttered Horace, after convincing himself by ocular demonstration that both his sisters were sauntering along the broad gravel-walk, and, as he doubted not, exercising their united powers of guessing on the subject of Arthur’s misdemeanours. “Old Dub’s too straightforward to say anything that my lady can understand;” and with this dutiful commentary on his parent’s powers of comprehension, Horace Vavasour betook himself to his task.