"Strange girl," said Caroline; "so cold to some, so warm to others; I shall be glad to see these incomparable Wortleys." "So shall I," said Mrs. Lyddell; "but I expect that Marian's opinion of them will soon alter, she has now become used to such different society. However we must be very civil to them, be they what they may." In the meantime Marian penned a letter to Agnes, in terms of delight and affection twenty times warmer than any which had ever passed her lips, and then resigned herself to Saunders' hands to be dressed, without much free will on her own part; too excited to read as usual during the operation, sometimes talking, sometimes trying to imagine Agnes in London, a conjunction which seemed to her almost impossible. The carriage came for her, and in due time she was entering the great drawing-room, where Selina, looking prettier than ever in her evening dress, sat reading a novel and awaiting her guests. "O Selina, only think," she began; "the Wortleys are coming!" "What say you? Why, Marian, you are in a wild state. Who are coming?" "The Wortleys, Selina, my own Agnes." "O, your old clergyman's daughter! You constant little dove, you don't mean that you have kept up that romantic friendship all these years?" "Why, Selina!" "Yes, yes, I remember all about them now: the daughter was your great friend." "She was more yours," said Marian, "when you were at Fern Torr, because you were more nearly the same age. Don't you remember how you used to whisper under the sycamore tree, and send me out of the way?" "Poor little Marian! Well, those were merry times, and I rather think your Agnes promised to be very pretty." "And shall not you be glad to see her?" "When do they come?" "Next Monday, to--Cadogan Place." "Close to you. Well, that is lucky; but now, my dear, if you can come down from the clouds for a moment, I want to tell you about Lady Julia." "Who is she?" said Marian, bringing back her attention with an effort. "A tiresome woman," whispered Selina, with a sort of affectation of confidence; "but the fact is, Lord Marchmont used to know her husband, or his father, or his great grandfather, sometime in the dark ages, and so be wants me to make much of her. She is one of the people that it is real toil to make talk for; but by good fortune I remembered that I had heard some legend about her once knowing my uncles, and so I thought that a cross-examination of you about Gerald and Fern Torr would be a famous way of filling up the evening." "O!" said Marian in a not very satisfied tone, "so she has a husband, has she? I fancied from your note that she only consisted of herself," "She consists of a son and daughters," said Selina. "Her husband is dead, but the rest of the house you will presently see." "Eh?" said Lord Marchmont, coming out of the other room where he had been writing, and greeting Marian. "You don't mean that you have invited that young Faulkner?"