Agneta Stanhope’s seventeen years of life had been dull and monotonous, and apart from the ordinary experiences of girlhood, though she had suffered no outward privations during their progress. The childless aunt who had volunteered to take the little girl in charge, had been faithful according to Mrs. Stanhope’s light. She had taken care to provide Agne—that her own expense certainly—with a good governess and skilled masters. Mrs. Stanhope had been conscientious in making it a point that the child should have every material comfort, and she and her governess had shared all the advantages, which Mrs. Stanhope held fit for them, that could be derived from General Stanhope’s position and income. Agneta had always been duly recognised as the niece and adopted daughter of the house, whether in town or country. She had even found a little establishment formed for her own especial well-being at the seaside, when other children were sent there. In short, Agneta had been treated with perfect humanity and consideration, and could lay no claim to being the persecuted, neglected orphan child of romance. But the General and his wife were neither of them particularly fond of children, though they did not call the grapes which had not been given to them sour. Accepting with philosophic adaptability the lot which they regarded as assigned to them, they replaced private by public interests. The couple went much into society and travelled a great deal. They were spirited, intelligent, liberal-minded in a conventional way, decidedly popular, and overwhelmed with engagements. To such a pair, though they fulfilled their obligations to Agneta in a perfectly honourable well-bred manner, the child and girl was of small account—at least till she was old enough to come out formally, go into company with her guardians, and obtain the establishment which Mrs. Stanhope felt bound to put in her way.