THAT evening my father came home, bringing with him my English cousin, Andrew Corbet, whom I had never seen, and whom he had been expecting for some days. He had come over in the train of the English ambassador, and therefore was to some extent a sacred person, though the name of Englishman was not at that time considered in Europe as it came to be afterward. Charles the Second was but a subsidized vassal of Louis the Fourteenth, as every one knew. It remained for the ungracious, silent little Dutchman, who came afterward, to raise England once more to her proper place among the nations. I may as well say here, not to make an unnecessary mystery, that Andrew Corbet was my destined husband, that arrangement having been made when we were both children. Such family arrangements were and are still common in France, where a girl's widest liberty is only a liberty of refusal, and a demoiselle would no more expect to choose her husband, than to choose her parents. In England there has always been more opportunity for choice—an opportunity which has so greatly increased since I can remember, that it is hard to see where it is going to end. I must say that, though I would never force a young person's inclinations, yet I do think the parents should have something to say as to their children's settlement. However, a person of discretion will find ways of managing such matters and preventing uncomfortable entanglements. I suppose I was not intended to know of this affair quite so soon, but it came out through Mrs. Grace's fussy anxiety that I should appear well in the eyes of my intended bridegroom; and, being once out, why, there was an end, as my mother said. I was not looking my best, by any means. Fourteen is not usually a beautiful age, and I was no exception to the general rule. I was naturally dark—"a true black Corby," my father said—and inclined to paleness, and my appearance was not at all improved by the dark lines under my eyes, caused by the grief and fatigue of the last few days. However, this same grief and care had a good effect in one way. They had brought my better nature uppermost for the time, and banished those daydreams, which were my bane, so that I was much less awkward and self-conscious than I should otherwise have been. I was of course curious to see my future bridegroom, but I cannot say that I remember feeling any particular flutter or agitation on the occasion. I was too young for that, and I had had no opportunity to form any other fancy. In this country, it would have been thought improper if not dangerous for me to associate so freely with a handsome young working-man like David Sablot, but I can safely say that such an idea never entered any one's head. The distinction of rank is very much more severely marked in France than here, and was much more so at that time than now; and besides, David was my foster-brother, and as such no more to be considered in any lover-like light than an own brother would have been.