Theodore had managed his life so well after that one bitter rebuff that Juanita had a right to suppose that his wound had healed, and that the pain of that hour had been forgotten. She was sincerely attached to him, as a kinsman, and respected him more than any other young man of her acquaintance. Had not Lord Cheriton, that admirable judge of character, declared that Theodore was one of the cleverest men he knew, and regretted that he had not attached himself to the higher branch of the law, as the more likely in his case to result in wealth and fame? The phaeton drove up to the old Hanoverian doorway as St. Peter’s clock chimed the quarter after one. The old man-servant looked surprised at this brilliant vision of a beautiful girl, a fine pair of horses, a smart groom, and Sir Godfrey Carmichael. The _tout-ensemble_ was almost bewildering even to a man accustomed to see the various conveyances of neighbouring landowners at his master’s door. “Yes, my lady, both the young ladies are at home,” said Brown, and led the way upstairs with unshaken dignity. He had lived in that house five-and-thirty years, beginning as shoe-black and errand boy, and he was proud to hear his master tell his friends how he had risen from the ranks. He had indulged in some mild philanderings with pretty parlour-maids in the days of his youth, but had never seriously entangled himself, and was a confirmed bachelor, and something of a misogynist. He was a pattern of honesty and conscientiousness, having no wife and family to be maintained upon broken victuals and illuminated with filched candle-ends or stolen oil. He had not a single interest outside his master’s house, hardly so much as a thought; and the glory and honour of “family” were his honour and glory. So, as he ushered Lady Carmichael and her husband to the drawing-room, he was meditating upon what additions to the luncheon he could suggest to cook which might render that meal worthy of such distinguished guests. Sophia was seated by one of the windows, painting an orchid in a tall Venetian vase. It was a weakness with these clever girls to think they could do everything. They were not content with Darwin and the new learning, but they painted indifferently in oils and in water colours, played on various instruments, sang in three languages, and fancied themselves invincible at lawn tennis. The orchid was top-heavy, and had been tumbling out of the vase every five minutes in a manner that had been very trying to the artist’s temper, and irritating to Janet, who was grappling with a volume of Johann Müller, in the original, and losing herself in a labyrinth of words beginning with _ver_ and ending with _heit_.