"A whole long year in your brother-in-law’s house, gaming, dancing and—unless I am misinformed—play-acting and fox-hunting, has still left you with an appetite for the follies of the court. I doubt not," said Lady Drumloch. "Does your ladyship return to Yorkshire to-day? or to-morrow? I understand that you traveled without escort or baggage and by the public conveyance!" "Do not be angry with us, dear Grandmother," pleaded Prue, her bright eyes filling with tears (the minx always had a supply at her command). "You do not want us to go back to-morrow, do you? Are you not a little tired of the excellent Lowton’s conversation, and do you not weary for your little Prue to read you Mr. Pope’s latest poem and Mr. Steele’s new play? and make you die of laughing over her adventures with the Yorkshire squires?" "And not only the squires," put in Peggie, who had been standing rather in the background, eagerly awaiting a chance to bring herself into notice. "Prue has had adventures with gallants more romantic than Yorkshire squires!" "Ah! is that Margaret Moffat?" cried the old lady. "’Tis sure where Prudence is, her shadow can not be far away! And, pray, what have your adventures been? Have not even bumpkin squires fallen to your charms? Surely Prudence has not carried off all the honors there as well as here?" This was a hard thrust, for Peggie was as plain as her cousin was fair, and had entered her fourth decade without one serious assault upon her maiden heart. Devoted to Prue, she was too loyal to think that this was partly the fault of the youthful widow’s all-devouring coquetry, but she was very human, and it wounded her to be forced into acknowledging the contrast. "Alack, Peggie made short work of their hearts," cried Prue, coming to the rescue. "I only turned their heads. ’Tis strange how foolish men will always be about a widow." "Foolish enough to marry one widow after being jilted by another," acquiesced the grandmother dryly. "I hear thy erstwhile lover, Lord Beachcombe, has married the Widow Curzon. The baker’s daughter hath a second chance of wearing strawberry-leaves." "She may have them for aught I care—along with the meanest, ugliest, most disagreeable man that ever decked his empty head withal," cried Prudence. "_I_ am going to marry the finest gentleman in England—the bravest and handsomest—and the cleverest, too. When a man of parts is in Parliament, ’tis his own fault if he be not in the Cabinet—and once in the Cabinet there are garters and coronets to be had for the trouble of reaching after them." "A politician, too!" sneered the countess. "Pray, which of our worthy statesmen has had his head turned by the widow?" "Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert," replied Prue, and having got so far she stopped, and the blood rushed in a torrent to her face, crimsoning even her forehead and neck.