A very pretty little room it was; none of your enormous dreary state-apartments, dull as a theatre in the daytime, with a bed like a mourning coach, and corners of gloom and mystery, uncomfortable even at noon, and fatal to the nerves when seen by the light of a solitary wax-candle. On the contrary, it was quite the room for a young lady: pink hangings tinted one's complexion with that roseate bloom which the poet avers is as indispensable to woman as "man's imperial front"—whatever that means—is to the male biped. A dark carpet with a rich border relieved the light-coloured paper, picked out sparingly with flowers; the toilet-table was covered with a blushing transparency of pink under white, like sunset on snow—perhaps I should rather say like a muslin dress over a satin slip; and there was a charming full-length glass, in which I could contemplate my whole person from top to toe, without slanting it an inch off the perpendicular. The lookout was into Lady Scapegrace's garden, a little bijou of a place, that bore ample witness to the good taste of its mistress. Every shrub had been transplanted under her own eye, every border filled according to her personal directions. She tied her own carnations, and budded her own roses, like the most exemplary clergyman's wife in England. I do believe she would have been a good wife to anybody but Sir Guy.

However, it was too dark for me to see anything of her ladyship's garden. It was already getting dusk when we arrived, and although it wanted three mortal hours of dinner, all the ladies, including the hostess, had retired to their own rooms, to while away the time by writing letters, reading novels, and going to sleep. I was much too restless to embark in any of these occupations. It would have been a relief to write, certainly—to pour out all one's thoughts and feelings before some sympathizing correspondent; but I owned none such. I could not have settled to read, no, not the most interesting novel that was ever penned, although I might have left it off the day before in an agony of uncertainty at the critical place which is always to be found near the conclusion of the second volume; and as for sleep—sleep, indeed!—I felt as if I should never sleep again.

When I am unhappy, and particularly when I am angry with myself, I must always be doing something—no matter what—but I must be occupied, so I hurried Gertrude, and bustled about, and got myself dressed, and found my own way to one of the drawing-rooms, where I hoped to be at least secure from interruption, and to brood and worry myself for an hour or two in unbroken solitude. I ought to have been safe enough here. As I had wandered through unknown passages and passed uncertain doors, I had heard the click of billiard balls, the sound of many voices, and the harsh laugh of Sir Guy; I knew consequently that the gentlemen were all busy at "pool," or some equally intellectual pastime, and had not yet gone to dress. I was sufficiently conversant with the habits of my own sex to be aware that no lady would willingly tarnish the freshness of her dinner toilette by coming down before the very last minute, and I anticipated therefore no further interruption than a housemaid coming to put the fire to rights, or a groom of the chambers to light fresh candles, functionaries, especially the former, who would be much more incommoded by my presence than I should be by theirs. Good gracious! there was a gentleman down and dressed already; sitting with his back to me, immersed in the thrilling pages of "The Drawing-Room Scrap Book," which he was studying upside-down. I came in very softly, and he never heard me, nor turned his head, but I knew the back of that head pretty well. It was Cousin John. I also took a book, and sat down.

"Perhaps," I thought, "he's not going to speak to me at all. Well, what do I care? I've a temper, too, if it comes to that."

So I read my book assiduously; it was the "Comic Almanac," but I don't know that it made me feel very much inclined to laugh. The clock ticked loud and disagreeably. I determined not to speak till I was spoken to; but after a time the silence grew irksome, and the ticking of the clock so loud, that I ventured on a slight cough, merely to break it. "Ahem," said I, still intent on the "Comic Almanac." John turned slowly round, made a half rise, as if out of compliment to my presence, and returned to "The Drawing-Room Scrap Book," which, however, he was now reading the right way. This would not do; I resolved to wait a little longer, just a quarter of an hour by the clock, and see whether he would not have the common civility to speak to me. What a long quarter of an hour it was! The hand reached it at last—it passed it—I gave him another five minutes. It was getting painful. I spoke, and the sound of my own voice quite startled me, yet was my remark as harmless and commonplace as well could be.

"John," said I, "what time do we dine?"

"A quarter before eight, I believe," answered John, quite good-humouredly, and as if nothing had happened to estrange us. "Dear me, Kate, how early you're dressed!"

I could have cried with vexation; but I resolved, if possible, to find a sore place somewhere, and give him "one" before I had done with him; so I made a saucy face, and asked him, half laughing, whether "he didn't think I had driven them very well from the station?"

"Inimitably, Kate," was his reply; "I hadn't the least idea you were so accomplished a charioteer."

I should have burst into tears, I verily believe, but just then Lady Scapegrace sailed in, and the usual forms of society had to be gone through; and she kissed me, and shook hands with Mr. Jones, as if she really liked us; and we talked of the weather, and the shameful stoppages of the train we had come by, and the general inconveniences of railways; and presently more ladies came down, neat and crisp as if turned out of a bandbox, followed by their lords in choking white neckcloths; and then Sir Guy himself appeared in a costume of surpassing splendour; but still, although in his evening dress, brilliant with starch and polish and buttons and jewellery, looking like a coachman in masquerade; and "dinner" was announced, and we all paired off with the utmost ceremony, and I found myself seated between Frank Lovell and dear old Mr. Lumley, and opposite the elder Miss Molasses, who scowled at me with an asperity of which I should have believed her unmeaning face incapable, as if she hated me on this particular evening more than all the other days of the year. I soon discovered the cause. Frank was more attentive to me than I had ever known him, although there was a something in his manner that I did not altogether like, a sort of freedom that I had never remarked before, and which made me colder and more reserved than usual. It was evident he thought he might venture as far as he liked with a young lady who drove four horses and smoked a cigar the while. I felt I was blushing under my skin; but I was determined to brave it all out, to hide from every living soul my own vexation and self-contempt. Once I caught a telegraphic signal exchanged between my neighbour and Miss Molasses, after which she seemed more at ease, and went on with her dinner in comfort. I was so angry now that I turned my shoulder towards Master Frank, and took refuge with my dear old friend Mr. Lumley, who, utterly regardless of the noise and flirtation his better half was carrying on at the other end of the table, discussed his cutlet quite contentedly, and prosed away to me in his usual kind, consolatory manner. I was one of his great favourites; in fact, he told me so, then and there. He always called me "my dear," and often vowed that if he had only the use of his legs he would walk to the end of the world to make me a thoroughgoing naturalist like himself. I was getting more at ease under his dear old wing. I had gone through so much excitement during the day that this comparative inaction was a positive relief, and I was really beginning to enjoy a sort of repose, when the Baronet's horrid voice from the bottom of the table aroused me once more to an agony of shame and despite.

"Do me the honour to drink a glass of champagne; the champagne to Miss Coventry!" shouted Sir Guy; "you must require it after your exertion. Egad! my team won't get over it in a hurry—the roads were woolly and the time short—hey, Miss Kate? But d——n me if the whipcord was scarce. I've done that seven miles in all weathers, and a sweet seven miles it is, but I never came anything like the pace we did to-day. Your good health, Miss Kate; I'll have a fresh team put together for you to-morrow, and a better cigar to smoke than the one I gave you to-day."

I could willingly have sunk into the earth—nay, crept under the table-cloth—anything to hide my dishonoured head. The ladies looked at each other aghast, and then at me. The gentlemen, even the stiffest of them, turned boldly round to survey such a phenomenon as the tobacco-smoking, four-in-hand Miss Coventry. Mrs. Lumley showered her long ringlets all over her face with one toss of her pretty little head that I might not see how heartily she was laughing. Lady Scapegrace good-naturedly made an immense clatter with something that was handed to her, to distract attention from my unfortunate self; but I believe I must have got up and left the room had not Cousin John come adroitly to the rescue. He had not been studying the daily paper for nothing, and his voice rose loud and clear through the awful silence that succeeded Sir Guy's polished remarks.

"Did you see that article in to-day's Times about Ministers?" asked John, of the public in general; "there's another split in the Cabinet—this time it's on the malt-tax. To-day, in the City, they were betting five to two there's a general election within a fortnight, and taking two to one Ambidexter is Premier before the first of next month."

John! John! if you had saved my life I could not have been more obliged to you. Many of the present party were members of Parliament—all were deep in politics. Most of them had seen the Times, but none, like John, had the earliest intelligence from the City. I have since had reason to believe he invented every syllable of it. However, such a topic was too engrossing not to swamp every other, and no more allusions were made to my unfortunate escapade till Lady Scapegrace had drawn on her gloves, bent her haughty head, and "made the move," at which we all sailed away to tea and coffee in the drawing-room.

Here I was more at my ease. Lady Scapegrace and Mrs. Lumley, hating each other, were, of course, inclined to be excessively kind to me—I formed a bond of union between the foes. We three, particularly with such a weapon as the tongue of Mrs. Lumley, were more than a match for any number of our own sex, and most of the other ladies gave in at once. Only Miss Molasses held out, and eyed me once more with an expression of eager malice for which I could not easily account. I remarked, too, that she seemed restless and fidgety, glanced anxiously ever and anon at the door by which the gentlemen would join us, and seemed uncomfortable if any of us approached an empty chair which was next to her seat. I began to have my suspicions of Frank Lovell, notwithstanding all his asseverations. I determined to watch him narrowly; and if I found my misgivings were true—if I discovered he was false and treacherous, why, then, I would—after all, what could I do? It stung me to think how powerless I was.

Now, the establishment of Scamperley, although doubtless the bonds of domestic discipline were by no means over-tightly drawn, was one in which servants, from the stately curly-headed "groom of the chambers," down to the little boy in green that was always too late for the post, had more than enough upon their hands. In the first place, nobody ever seemed to think of going to bed much before daylight. This entailed a breakfast, protracted by one late sleeper after another till luncheon-time; that meal was of unusual magnificence and variety; besides which, a hot repast, dressed by the French cook, and accompanied by iced champagne, etc., required to be served in one of the woods for the refreshment of Sir Guy's shooting guests. Then in the afternoon there were constant fresh arrivals and rooms to be got ready; for when the host and hostess were at home they kept the house full, and the day concluded with a large dinner-party, at which seldom less than sixteen sat down to discuss the inspirations of Monsieur Horsd'oeuvre and the priceless wines of Sir Guy. No wonder the servants looked tired and overworked, though I fancy the luxury and good living downstairs was quite equal to that which elicited encomiums from bon-vivants and connoisseurs above. Nevertheless, it was but just that they too should have their share of relaxation and amusement; therefore did Sir Guy in his generosity give an annual servants' ball, which he attended and opened himself in a state of hilarity not calculated to inspire much respect amongst his retainers. He had, however, sufficient self-command invariably to select as his partner the prettiest maidservant in his establishment. But if the baronet failed in his dignity as head of the house, her ladyship had enough for both. She looked like a queen as she sailed in, amongst her own domestics and all the retainers and hangers-on for miles round. On the evening in question it amused me much to see the admiration, almost the adoration, she elicited from old and young. No wonder: that stately form, that queenly brow, had been bent over many a sick-bed; those deep, thrilling tones had spoken words of comfort to many a humble sufferer; that white hand was ever ready to aid, ever open to relieve; good or bad, none ever applied to Lady Scapegrace in vain.

"The virtuous it is pleasant to relieve and make friends of," she has often said to me in her moments of confidence; "the wicked it is a duty to assist and to pity. Who should feel for them, Kate, if I didn't? God knows I have been wicked enough myself."

The men-servants never took their eyes off her, and I fear made but sorry partners to the buxom lasses of the household till "my lady" had left the room. I saw two stable-boys, evidently fresh arrivals, who seemed perfectly transfixed with admiration, as at an apparition such as they had never pictured to themselves in their dreams; and one rough fellow, a sort of under-keeper in velveteen, with the frame of a Hercules and a fist that could have stunned an ox, having gazed at her open-mouthed for about ten minutes without winking an eyelash, struck his hand against his thigh, and exclaimed aloud to his own inexpressible relief, though utterly unconscious of anything but the presence which so overpowered him,—

"Noa, dashed if ever I did!"

This was soon after "my lady" had sailed into the servants' hall at the head of her guests. It was the custom of the place for all the "fashionables" and smart people who were actually in the house to attend the servants' ball, most of us only staying long enough to set the thing going with spirit, though I believe some of the young dandies who found partners to their liking remained to the end, and "kept it up" till daylight. Down we all went, as soon as the gentlemen had finished their wine and discussed their coffee in the drawing-room, down we went, through stone passages and long underground galleries into a splendidly-lighted apartment, somewhat devoid of furniture, but decorated with evergreens, and further adorned by a sort of muslin transparency hanging from the roof. This was the servants' hall, and although on a stone floor, a capital room for dancing it was. We were all soon provided with partners. Sir Guy, much to her triumph, selected my maid, Gertrude. Lady Scapegrace paired off with the steward, a fat, rosy man, who quite shone with delight at the honour. The French cook carried off Miss Molasses, with whose native stupidity I thought the vivacious foreigner seemed a little disappointed. Frank Lovell was taken possession of by the fat housekeeper, to whom he "did the amiable," as Frank had the knack of doing to anything with a petticoat. Cousin John handed off a stately damsel, whom I afterwards recognized as the upper housemaid, and I was claimed by a dapper little second-horse rider, of whom I flatter myself I made a complete conquest by the interest I took in his profession and the thorough knowledge I displayed of its details. I had to make most of the conversation myself, certainly, for his replies, though couched in terms of the deepest respect, and accompanied by a chivalrous deference for my sex to which I was totally unaccustomed from the partners of a London ball-room, consisted for the most part of little more than "Yes, Miss," and "No, Miss," with an additional smooth of the smoothest, shiniest head I ever beheld. When I had exhausted the meets of the hounds for the ensuing week, with a few general observations on the pursuit of hunting, and the merits of that noble animal, the horse, I began to get high and dry for further topics, and was not sorry when three fiddles and a flute struck up their inspiriting tones, and away we all went, "cross hands," "down the middle and up again," to the lively and by this time tolerably familiar air of "Sir Roger de Coverley."

I am bound to confess that, as far as the servants were concerned, everything went on with the utmost propriety and respect. Sir Guy, indeed, pulled his partner about with an unnecessary degree of vigour, which at times almost degenerated into a romp, and squeezed my hands in "the Poussette" with an energy of affection which I could well have dispensed with; but every one else was a very pattern of politeness and decorum. In fact, the thing was almost getting stupid, when my little second-horse rider and myself, returning breathless from our rapid excursion down some two-and-thirty couple, were "brought up," startled and dismayed, by a piercing scream from at least that number of female voices, all raised at the same instant.

"Fire! fire!" exclaimed the tall housemaid at my elbow.

"Save me! save me!" shrieked the fat housekeeper, plumping into Frank Lovell's arms, and well-nigh bringing him to the ground, in which case she must have crushed him.

"Murder! murder!" shouted my idiot of a maid, Gertrude, rushing frantically for the doorway, followed by Sir Guy, who was swearing, I am sorry to say, most fearfully.

"Stand still, fools!" I heard Lady Scapegrace exclaim in her deep tones, "and let nobody open the door!"

By this time there was a rush of all the women towards the door; and as the centre of the room was cleared, I saw what had happened. The muslin transparency had caught fire—a large fragment of it was even now blazing on the floor, and the consequences amongst all those light floating dresses and terrified women might have been indeed awful. For an instant everybody seemed paralyzed—everybody but Cousin John; during that instant he had flung off his coat, and kneeling upon it, extinguished the flames. They were still blazing over his head: with a desperate bound he tore down the ill-fated transparency; regardless of singed hair and blistered hands, he clasped and pressed it, and stamped upon it, and smothered it. Ere one could have counted fifty the danger was over and not a vestige of the fire remained. How handsome he looked with his brave face lighted up and his eyes sparkling with excitement! Nobody could say John wanted expression of countenance now. The next moment he was quietly apologizing in his usual tone to Lady Scapegrace for "spoiling her beautiful transparency," and parrying her thanks and encomiums on his courage and presence of mind with an assurance that he "only pulled it down because he happened to be directly under it;" but he could not help turning to me and saying,—

"Kate, I hope you were not much frightened."

The words were not much, but they were uttered in the old kind voice; they rung in my ears all the evening, and I went to bed happier than I ever thought I could have been after such a day.