"Well, my dear, very likely," said the old lady meekly; "though she might have been a baronet's lady if she had only chosen. I'm sure young Sir Joseph Attride would have proposed to her, with a little more encouragement; and though my poor husband always said he had pudding in his head instead of brains, that wouldn't have been any just cause or impediment. You never heard about Sir Joseph, Maude?" "No; Miss Ashurst never spoke to us of any of her conquests," said Maude, with something of a sneer. "Well, ray dear, Marian was never one to say much, you know; but I'm sure she might have done as well as any girl in the county, for the matter of that. There was Sir Joseph, and young Mr. Peacock before he went up to live in London, and a young German who was over here to learn English--Burckhardt his name was, and I think his friends were counts, or something of that kind, in their own country--oh, quite grand, I assure you!" "I wonder whether uncle knows of all these former rivals?" asked Gertrude. "No, my dear, of course he doesn't, and of course Marian would not be such a goose as to tell him. I think I'll sleep for a bit now, dears; I'm tired." They kissed her, and left the room; but before the old lady had dropped off, she said to herself, "I wasn't going to let them crow over me, or think that my Marian couldn't have had her pick and choice of a husband, if she'd been so minded." Maude and Gertrude were going towards the garden, after leaving Mrs. Ashurst; they saw the postman quitting the door, and the servant came to them with a letter, which she handed to Maude. That young lady opened and read it, but she could scarcely have gone through a few lines, when a particularly stern expression came over her face, her brows were knit, and her lips set tightly together. "What's the matter, Maude?" asked Gertrude, looking on in wonder. "Who's the letter from?" "From our new mistress," said the girl; "at least, I expect she intends we should regard her as such--Mrs. Creswell. They are to be at home at the end of next week, and my lady thinks she shall require what is now our music-room for her boudoir. We can have the room at the end of the north passage. Can we, indeed! How very considerate! And it's no use appealing to uncle! He daren't help us, I know! What did I tell you, Gertrude? This woman won't rest until she has crushed us into a state of mere dependence!" CHAPTER XXIII. WEDNESDAY'S POST.