Pevenshall Place, with innumerable lighted windows flashing on the darkness of the night, looked a very noble mansion as Cecil approached it in the luxurious brougham that had been sent to meet her at the Farnleigh-Heath station. No enchanted palace of fairy story could have shone more brilliantly upon the belated wanderer than did this substantial modern dwelling. Within, splendour and comfort fought for the mastery. A gigantic fire of sea-coal, surmounted by a monster log, warmed and brightened the great Italian hall, a desecration which would have excruciated the classic architect--who had devised an appropriate bronze stove, of antique design, for the heating of the vast chamber. Curtains of crimson cloth hung before all the doors, and the skins of wild animals lay side by side with Persian carpets and the snow-white fleece of peaceful sheep. The pair of matched footmen who were the chief glory of Mrs. Lobyer's establishment advanced to receive Lady Cecil's morocco travelling-bag, and to relieve her of her shawl. The splendid creatures knew that she was an earl's daughter; but they could not entirely conceal some faint tokens of that gentlemanly contempt which a high-bred footman must always entertain for a lady who travels without her maid. "Which her connection with the peerage makes it wuss," said one of the gentlemen, when he discussed the matter at the social supper-table; "it's bringing the very horder she belongs to into contempt." The gorgeous creatures relinquished Lady Cecil's burden to meaner hands immediately after taking them. They were attended by _aides-de-camp_ in the shape of an under-footman and a boy page; and their reception of the traveller's parcel had been a purely ceremonial act. One of these Corsican brothers of the servants'-hall drew aside a crimson curtain, and revealed a broad lighted corridor, with many doors, some of which were open, and along which echoed the sound of voices and the resonant music of laughter. Before Cecil could follow the majestic footman, that individual drew suddenly aside, and a light fluttering figure, brightly attired in trailing garments of pink silk, half hidden under airy puffings of blonde, came hurrying towards the visitor. It was Flo, brighter and more bewitching even than of old, with her golden hair tortured into an edifice of puffs, _à la Pompadour_, and sprinkled with glittering particles that sparkled in the lights.