From the grand old oak dining-room, with its black polished wainscoting, its great black elaborate sideboard and antique chairs, into an adjacent drawing-room, was quite a little walk over Turkey carpets and soft fluffy mats. The tall flunkeys in attendance were a splendid match both in manner and matter; and, however much Mr. Richard Tallant might ape this sort of thing at Kensington Palace Gardens, he could not help feeling that he was in presence of the real thing here. There was no veneering at Montem Castle, no attempt at display, none of that demonstrative show with which Plebeian Upstartism impresses you. Whatever there was at Montem Castle struck you with its reality, even to the form and ceremony. It was not put on for special occasions. The inmates were used to it. The best of everything was for my lord and lady, and the guests came in for their share of the best. There were certainly in the castle grand plate services for state occasions, when numbers were the chief consideration of cook and butler; but the grandeur of Montem Castle one day was the same as the next, and Mr. Tallant felt that this was the great difference between his place at Kensington Palace Gardens and the magnificent realities of Montem. The drawing-room in which the Countess awaited her husband and brother was the smallest of the two drawing-rooms--an exquisitely furnished room in which pale green and pale gold predominated in colour. The walls were enriched with delicate water-colour sketches, and there were dainty vases and statuettes here and there. Pale green curtains hung in massive folds beside each window, and the cornices above were floral designs in white and gold. Mirrors between each window reflected the pictures and the vases and the cabinets over and over again, and the great chimney-glass carried facsimiles of the chandeliers far away as though you were looking down a long vista, until the hundreds of wax candles flickered like stars in the distance. The blinds were not drawn, and one of the windows looking out upon the terrace was open; for it was twilight and unusually hot, and the harvest moon was just rising. The Countess, in a low evening dress, and wearing the diamond necklace which his lordship gave her on her marriage, was sitting near a tray of silver service, and one of those said matched servitors handed to the Earl and Mr. Tallant tea and coffee, whichever they desired. In a short time Mr. Tallant said he should be compelled to return to town in the morning, and he would like to have a little conversation with her ladyship on some family matters that would not interest Lord Verner. As it was such a charming evening, might he suggest a walk on the terrace. “By all means, if Amy would like it; I think it would do you good, my love. Lionel will be here presently, and he and I can chat whilst Mr. Tallant is engaged with you.” “I hope her ladyship will pardon the liberty I have taken,” said Mr. Tallant, “and your lordship too.”