CHAPTER VII. A FAMILY LIKENESS. There was a sense of mystery hanging over the Castle. Visitors were expected, and a whole suite of apartments, called the Queen’s Rooms (of course because Queen Elizabeth had occupied them on one of her progresses), had been prepared for them, much to Félicia’s astonishment and somewhat to her indignation. It seemed to her that she and her engagement had sunk into insignificance in view of this approaching visit of Lord and Lady Cyril Mortimer and the latter’s son. Why on earth should such a fuss be made about them? she wished to know; and she took refuge in an insulted determination not to show any interest in their coming, although Maimie’s eyes expressed abundant knowledge, and Usk was obviously willing to be questioned. Lord Caerleon and his son drove into Aberkerran to meet the travellers, and afternoon tea was postponed until their return. This was a fresh grievance for Félicia, who declared herself as limp as a rag. In the intervals of eyeing the tea-table thirstily, she spared a little mild wonder for Lady Caerleon, who was moving nervously about the hall, altering the position of the furniture and rearranging the folds of curtains. The brougham drove up, and Lady Caerleon flew to the door to receive the white-haired lady whom her husband led up the steps. Félicia’s quick eye noticed at once that the visitor was wearing the most magnificent sables she had ever beheld, but her amazement was extreme when she saw Lady Caerleon only checked in a deep reverence by the newcomer’s seizing her hands and kissing her on both cheeks. “Do tell, now!” whispered the astonished observer eagerly to Maimie. “Aren’t these English people real stiff? or is it because Lady Caerleon is a foreigner?” “Nadia, my dear sister!” the visitor was saying reproachfully, as Maimie shot a glance of scorn at Félicia, “you will astonish your young friends. Present them, please--I mean, you will introduce them, won’t you?” As Lady Caerleon complied with the request, in a curiously flurried manner, Félicia noticed that the stranger’s face did not look old, in spite of her white hair, and that she had a very sweet smile. In her bearing there was something so dignified, notwithstanding the gentleness of her words and looks, that Félicia felt as if she was being presented at Court. In Lady Cyril’s presence she suddenly saw herself as an outsider, and began to feel nervous about her manners and uncomfortable about her voice. “But I’ll watch and see how she fixes things,” she told herself, with returning confidence. “I guess an American woman can just make herself over if she wants to, and not be beaten by any Eu-ropian court lady.”