Текст книги "Sweet Lass of Richmond Hill "

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George 1

I George II m. Caroline of Ansbacf

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Frederick Louis m Augusta of Saxe-Gotha Anne Amel

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Augusta George III Edward

m. Charlotte of Mecklenburg -Strelitz

I n 1 ' 1 '

I Frederick Charlotte Augusta

George IV William Edward Elizab<

•ophia Dorothea of Calls

1

Sophia Dorothea

1 1 1 1 1.

Caroline George William. Mary Louisa

Duke of Cumberland

i

1 n 1

filliam. Henry Frederick Caroline Matilda,

Queen of Denmark

"I 1 1 1 1 1 1 1

nest Adolphus Sophia Alfred

Augustus Mary Octavius Amelia

be

BIBLIOGRAPHY

of

of

Mrs. Fitzherbert and George

IV The Life and Times of George

IV George The Fourth Memoirs of George IV George the Fourth The First Gentleman The Good Queen Charlotte The Life of George IV George III The Four Georges The First Gentleman

Europe Loves of Florizel Memoirs and Portraits Memoirs of the Reign

George III George III, Monarch

Statesman George III, His Court and

Family In the Days of the Georges The Four Georges The House of Hanover The Great Corinthian Fanny Burney The Story of Fanny Burney George, Prince and Regent The Years of Endurance England in the Eighteenth

Century The Reign of George III The Dictionary of National

Biography British History

National and Domestic History of England

W. H. Wilkins, m.a., f.s.a. The Rev. George Croly

Shane Leslie Robert Huish Roger Fulford Grace E. Thompson Percy Fitzgerland Percy Fitzgerland J. C. Long Wm. M. Thackeray Lewis Melville

Philip Lindsay Horace Walpole Horace Walpole

and Beckles Wilson

Henry Colburn

William B. Boulton Sir Charles Pctrie Alvin Redman Doris Leslie Christopher Lloyd Muriel Masefield Philip W. Sergeant Arthur Bryant R. W. Harris

J. Steven Watson

Edited by Sir Leslie Stephen

and Sir Sidney Lee John Wade William Hickman Smith

Aubrey

A Birth in Tong Castle

Dusk was beginning to throw long shadows across the Red Room in Tong Castle as Mary Smythe pushed aside the red hangings about the bed and sat down uneasily. It was too early as yet for the child to make its appearance—but how could one be sure? Children had a habit of coming before their time.

She wished that the child could have been born in their own home. Walter had said that as soon as they had a child they must certainly look for a house, and she anticipated with great pleasure the prospect of choosing her own furniture and making her own home; it would be quite different from living in her brother-in-law's mansion at Acton Burnell or here in Tong Castle.

It was of course very kind of the Duke of Kingston to lend them his castle until after the birth of the child; he preferred to have someone living there during his absence, to keep the servants in order and see to the running of the place, so why not his good friend Walter Smythe whom he knew was longing to leave the parental roof now that he had acquired a wife?

She had been delighted to come to Tong Castle, as grand and impressive an edifice to be found not only in the county of Shropshire but in the whole of England. But it was not one's own home. She had tried to make it so by installing the prie-dieu in a corner of the room, the crucifix over the bed and the

flask of holy water on the carved mantelpiece. But whenever she was conscious of the manner in which the servants eyed these things, an irrepressible indignation swept over her. She would never be reconciled to the laws of England which, while they did not go so far as to forbid Catholics to worship as they pleased, excluded them from their civil rights and penalized them in a hundred ways.

Mary clenched her hands together and reminded herself that she would be ready to die for her faith in the same way in which those of her own faith were murdering those not of theirs throughout the world.

Walter came into the room. He was the best of husbands, good looking, financially secure and, most important of all, a Catholic. The marriage would never have taken place if he had not been. She had brought him a good dowry; they were even remotely related to each other, which was often the case with Catholic families in England, for few married outside their own religion.

He looked startled when he saw her. 'Mary?'– he cried ques-tioningly. She nodded. 'I am not sure. But it may be.'

'It's a little soon.'

'It often happens so, I believe.'

'Should I call the midwife?'

'Not yet. Wait a little. She will laugh at me for being overanxious.'

He sat down beside her and took her hand.

'It's strange,' he said, 'that the child should be born in a castle.'

'I'd rather he were born in our own home.'

'We'll find a house as soon as you are ready.'

"I should like to settle near my brother in Hampshire.'

4 In Red Rice?' mused Walter. 'An excellent spot, as it is not far from Winchester.'

'Walter, after your adventures in the Austrian Army do you think you can settle down?'

'With you ... to raise a family, yes.'

To raise a family. She saw the gracious house, the garden with its peaceful lawns and the children they would have clustered about them. It was a pleasant picture; and the sub-

sequent births would be less tiresome than this one. The midwife had told her that the first was always the most difficult.

'A house,' she mused, to take her mind off the pains which she fancied were becoming a little more frequent, 'with a chapel.'

'Perhaps it would be a little unwise to have a chapel in the house, my love.'

'Oh, Walter, why should we be persecuted?'

Walter admitted that the intolerant laws were a burden to all Catholics, but being a fair man he pointed out that they were less severe in England than in any other country in the world.

'Yet ... we are penalized,' cried Mary, her eyes flashing. 'If this were not so we should have our own house now. You would not have had to leave England to follow a career.'

'Well, I have at least travelled and seen service in the Austrian Army.'

'And that was England's loss,' cried Mary vehemently. 'Oh, Walter, if only it had gone differently at the '45.'

'But it did not, Mary, and we know full well that the Stuarts lost all hope after Culloden. Charles Edward will never come back now. He is drinking himself to death across the water and the Hanoverians are firmly on the throne. They say young Prince George is a good young man, and popular with the people. No, Mary, the Hanoverians arc here to stay so we had better make the best of it.'

'But to live as we do ... hearing Mass almost by stealth, being debarred from privileges. What of our children? Are they going to grow up in a society which will deprive them of their rights because they worship God in the only true way?'

'You must not excite yourself, my dear. One thing is certain. Our children will worship God in accordance with the laws of the Roman Catholic Church no matter what the laws of the country.'

Mary sighed. Anything else was unthinkable, of course.

'You should not concern yourself. As long as the laws are not made more harsh we shall be able to look after ourselves.'

Dear Walter! He was so resigned. Perhaps she was apt to become excited over this matter simply because she was about

to bear a child. The future looked bright enough. Soon the uncomfortable business of child bearing would be over; they would have their house and she would be a happy matron. How different that would be from sharing her brother-in-law's house at Acton Burncll—large and comfortable though it was. Perhaps the Duke of Kingston hoped they would buy Tong Castle, for he wanted to sell it. But no, Tong Castle was too grand for them; they would not be able to keep it up, for in spite of her dowry they were not rich according to the Duke's standards as Walter was the second son of the late Sir John Smythc and naturally his inheritance could not equal that of Sir Edward, his brother, who had inherited the title and the bulk of the family estates.

She caught her breath suddenly. 'Walter, I think ... I am almost certain ... that my time has come.'

Walter lost no time in summoning the midwife.

Mary was right. Within a few hours she had become the mother of a daughter.

She was a little disappointed, having hoped that the firstborn would be a son; but the child was healthy and perfect in every way. She was named Mary Anne; but as her mother was Mary the baby soon became known as Maria. Little Maria grew prettier every day; and very soon her mother was once more pregnant.

Mary Smythc was determined that her second child should be born in a home of her own; so when Maria was only a few months old her parents gave up their custodianship of Tong Castle and came to Red Rice to stay with Mary's brother, Mr. Henry Errington, while they searched for a suitable residence. This did not take long to find; and before the birth of little Walter they had settled into a large country house in Bram-bridge which was not very far from Red Rice and had the additional advantage of being close to the town of Winchester.

Here Mary settled happily and during the next few years increased her family. John followed Walter; and after him rame Charles. Henry and Frances—a pleasant little family, living comfortably in the country, undisturbed by great events

in the capital. The old King died and young George came to the throne; they heard of his marriage to Princess Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, of his coronation and the birth of the Prince of Wales, which was followed in due course by the birth of a second son.

'Oh yes,' repeated Walter Smythe, 'the Hanoverians arc here to stay.'

Maria Smythe lay on the hard pallet in her sparsely furnished room—which was more like a cell—and wept silently, asking herself how she could bear to be torn away from this place which had been her home for so many years.

Tomorrow Papa would come to take her away and she would leave her school-fellows, the dear nuns, the Mother Superior, the routine of the convent and Paris, and go back to England. How strange it seemed that when she had known she was to come here she had wept as bitterly at the thought of leaving her home in Brambridge as she was now weeping at the prospect of leaving the convent.

Maria sat up. Perhaps there was comfort in that. Perhaps she would become reconciled to life in Brambridge just as she had to life in the convent before she had grown to love it. But it would be different, of course. At home she would have to think about marrying for she knew well enough that this was the reason why she was being brought back to England. It happened with regularity to all the girls. They came here to be educated as good Catholics in the Convent of the Blew Nuns; then they returned home where suitable husbands were found for them; they produced children and, if they were girls, they in their turn came to the Convent. That was the pattern of Catholic girlhood.

The door opened slightly and her sister Frances appeared. Frances's eyes were red with weeping and she sniffed pathetically as she ran to the pallet and threw herself into Maria's arms.

'It's all right,' soothed Maria. 'You'll be all right when I'm gone. And in a very short time it will be your turn/

Frances looked up at her sister with adoration. Maria was not only the most beautiful person she knew; she was the kindest. What was little Frances going to do—newly arrived at the convent—with no Maria to protect her?

Maria immediately dismissed her own misgivings in order to comfort her sister. She pushed the heavy corn-coloured hair out of her eyes and said: 'Mamma and Papa will come and visit you perhaps. Perhaps I shall come myself. And in a very short time—far shorter than seems possible now– you will be feeling sad because it is your turn to leave all this.'

'But you will not be here, Maria.'

'I shall write to you.'

'But they will find a husband for you and even when I come home you won't be there.'

'I shall invite you to my house and find a husband for you. You will live close by and we shall see each other every day.'

'Oh, Maria, is that possible?'

'With Maria Smythe all things are possible.'

Frances began to giggle. 'Oh, Maria, Reverend Mother would say that you blaspheme.'

'Then I pray you do not tell her or I shall be summoned to her presence.' Maria folded her arms in an imitation of Reverend Mother. '"Maria Smythe, I hear that you believe yourself omniscient." "Yes, Holy Mother." "Then I pray you go to Versailles and tell the King that he must give up his evil ways." "Yes, Holy Mother." ' She began to laugh. 'Oh, I am ridiculous, am I not, Frances? Still, you are laughing.'

'But you did go to Versailles, Maria, once.'

Frances was asking for the story which she had heard before, so Maria obligingly told it.

'It was when Mamma and Papa came to visit me here ... as they will come to visit you. And naturally they took me to see

the sights. One of the most exciting of these was a visit to Versailles. Oh, Frances, you will love to visit Versailles. There is not another palace in the world like it. The gardens, the fountains, the statues ... they are like something you have dreamed of. And the great palace with all its windows that sparkle like diamonds when the sun is on them.'

'I wish we could go together, Maria.'

4 Well, we will talk about it when you come back to England. And we shall laugh together. Oh, you will love it here. Everyone seems so gay.' Maria's face clouded for a moment. 'Except some of the poor people. But you will love Versailles and you can go into the Palace and see the King having his dinner. It is so funny. There he sits in state behaving as though he is quite alone and only the barrier separates him from all the people who have come to watch him eat. I have heard that the funniest thing is the way in which he can knock the top off his egg at one stroke. But, alas, he was not eating an egg on the day Mamma and Papa took me to see him dine.'

Frances was already beginning to laugh at what was to come, but Maria had no intention of arriving at a hasty conclusion.

'It is necessary to have a ticket to get into the Palace and this Papa had. Anyone can go in provided they have a ticket, except begging friars and people marked with the small pox, but before you go in you must have a sword and a hat and there are people at the gates selling these. You will laugh at the people, Frances. They put on their hats and flourish their swords and some of them have never carried a sword before. And then into the Palace. You will never forget it. It is quite magnificent. The hall of mirrors! You can see yourself reflected again and again and again.

'Yes, Maria, and when you came to the apartment where the King was dining ...'

'Oh, Frances, what a disgrace! There we were close to the rope which held us back. Papa had brought me to stand ia front of him so that I could see everything.'

'And the King of France ...'

'Is a very old man, Frances. The Dauphin is his grandson. He is not nearly so handsome as his grandfather, for although the King is so old you know just by looking at him that he is a

king. But the Dauphin's wife is lovely. She is like a fairy. I saw them together. She is Austrian.'

'Where Papa served in the Army,' said Frances. 'I wonder if he saw her there.'

'I doubt it. But I was telling you about the King at dinner. Well, Frances, his servants brought in a chicken. They kneel before him when they serve him; and he is so fastidious, with the most beautiful white hands sparkling with diamonds, and suddenly he picked up a chicken and tore it apart with his hands. Oh, Frances, it seemed to me so funny.'

'Go on, Maria. Go on.'

'There was silence. Everyone was watching the King and suddenly ... I laughed. I laughed out loud and I could not stop laughing, Frances, because for some silly reason it seemed so funny.'

'Yes, yes?'

'And the King said to the* man who was serving him, "Who is that laughing?" And Papa held my hand very tightly and I stopped laughing for the man came right over to where I was standing. He said: "Who are you and what is your name?" Papa was about to speak and I thought: No. I will not let Papa take the blame. So I said very loudly and very quickly. "I am Maria Smythe, an English girl from the Conception Convent in the Faubourg St. Antoine. It was I who laughed at the King."' Maria became convulsed with laughter in which joined Frances, temporarily forgetting the imminent parting. 'Oh, Frances, the ceremony! It has to be seen to be believed. The King went on eating his chicken as though nothing had happened, and I stood there shivering, thinking that I should be carried off to prison and wondering what it was like living in a cell in the Bastille or the Conciergerie. I watched the man bowing and speaking to the King; then he took something from the table and came over to where I stood. I realized how grand he was when he spoke. "Mademoiselle, I, the'Due de Soubise, have the honour to present to you His Majesty's compliments. His Majesty wishes you to do him the honour of accepting this gift which he hopes will amuse you." He then presented me with a silver dish.'

'Which you still have,' said Frances.

Maria nodded. 'And which/ she went on, 'was full of sugar plums.'

'Show me the dish, Maria.'

Maria went to the bag which was already packed and took out a beautiful dish of silver on which a delicate pattern was traced.

'It's lovely,' cried Frances. 'And you had it just for laughing. It's a royal gift, Maria. The first royal gift you have ever had.'

'And the last, I dareswear,' said Maria lightly. 'But it is a lovely dish and I still laugh when I see it. And I envy you, Frances, to stay in Paris, for how I love Paris! I love it in the mornings when it is just beginning to wake up and there is an air of excitement everywhere and the streets are rilled with the smells of cooking and the shops open and people are all scuttling about in the excited way they have. You can't help catching the excitement. Brambridge seems very dull in comparison.'

'Brambridge is dull,' admitted Frances. 'The only excitement is going to Mass.'

'So that is the same, is it. Do they still lock the door of the chapel when Mass is celebrated?'

'Yes. And apart from that it is all so quiet. Lessons every day and a little riding in the park and we don't know many people because most of our neighbours are Protestants and Mamma and Papa won't allow us to know them.'

It was Maria's turn to be mournful. 'Oh, lucky Frances!' she sighed.

A happy phase of her life was over; a new one was about to begin. She would have to learn to adjust herself to life at home as she had in Paris—and at least she had succeeded in comforting Frances.

The house in Brambridge seemed smaller than she had been imagining it. Perhaps, she thought wryly, she had compared it with Versailles. On the journey back they had passed through London and an excitement had touched her then, for the capital city reminded her of Paris. Perhaps this was because in

Paris there had been a craze for all things English and the Parisians had been copying the English style of dress ... masculine of course. The men wore severely cut coats and white cravats and riding boots; and shops were advertising le the as drunk in England. Maria had felt excited by the big city, but of course they could not linger there. And when they had at length arrived in the beautiful county of Hampshire and passed through Winchester on the way to Brambridge and the carriage took them up the avenue of limes she felt a certain emotion, for this after all was home. Yet she did remember that the Mother Superior had embraced her with affection when she had left and had told her that if ever she wished to return to the Blew Nuns there would always be a welcome for her, implying that Maria Smythe would always remain one of the favourite pupils.

There was the house—a country mansion, the home of a squire and his family. Mamma was waiting to welcome her and embraced her, then held her at arms' length. 'Let me look at you, Maria. Why, how you have grown! Who would have thought that this was my little Maria?'

'Oh, Mamma, it is so good to see you.'

'And you have been happy with the Nuns?'

'They were very kind to me.'

Mary Smythe smiled. Who would not be good to this charming young creature? How wise they had been to send her away. She had poise and charm and of course she spoke French like a native. Consequently they had a beautiful, intelligent and educated girl to launch on society.

'Come into the house, daughter. You will have forgotten what it looks like after all this time.'

Arm in arm, mother and daughter entered the house and there were the boys waiting to give her a boisterous greeting.

'Be careful, boys,' cried their father, 'you will harm Marias Paris coiffure.'

John reached up and tried to pull down the golden hair which was piled high on Maria's head.

She jerked away from him, laughing. 'We all have to wear it high because Madame la Dauphine has a high forehead and wears hers so. It's the fashion.'

'And a most becoming one,' said Mary.

'I'm so pleased you approve, Mamma.'

'Come, my dearest, to your room. I have had a larger one prepared for you. It overlooks the lime avenue. I trust you will like it.'

'Oh, Mamma, I am happy to be home.'

'I feared that you would not wish to leave the nuns.'

'Nor did I. But I wanted to be home, too/

'You are fortunate, my dear, to have so much that you enjoy. I hope Frances will feel the same.'

'But of course she must, Mamma.'

Mary smiled, well pleased with her daughter. The boys were merry but inclined to be too boisterous and a little selfish. And Frances? Well, they would see. But perhaps there was only one Maria.

Later Walter and Mary discussed their daughter.

'She is charming,' said Mary. 'And a beauty. Her hair is quite lovely and her eyes ... that lovely hazel colour! Her complexion is quite perfect. It is like rose petals.'

'You are a fond mother.'

'Can you deny what I have said?'

'She has my nose. It would have been better if she had yours.'

'What nonsense! It adds character to her face. I think an aquiline nose is so attractive. Without it she would be insipid.'

'You are determined to eulogize your daughter, Madam.'

'Well, Sir, tell me if you can see one fault in her.'

Walter looked dubious and Mary cried triumphantly, 'There, you cannot. You are as proud of her as I am.'

'I admit to falling under the spell of our Maria. She has returned from France even more delightful than when she went.'

'Even the King of France was delighted by her.'

'Oh, those sugar plums. He would have behaved so to any child.'

'I don't agree. He saw her, was enchanted by her, and wished to make her a present.'

'I do not like to think of that man's making gifts to our daughter ... even though he thought of her as a child.'

Mary nodded. 'A sad state of affairs. No wonder the French are displeased with their king. Maria was telling me that he never goes to Paris at all because the people dislike him so much. They feel differently towards the Dauphin and his young Austrian wife. At least our King leads a good life, although there have been rumours about his early indiscretions. Did you know, I heard the other day that he had kept a Quakeress before his marriage and had even gone through a ceremony of marriage with her.'

'Rumours, Mary, to which it is unwise to listen and more unwise still to repeat.'

'Well, here's a more pleasant rumour. I have heard that he is inclined to be tolerant to religious minorities. The Quakers for one.'

'So here we are back to the Quaker rumour.' 'Well, is it not important to us? If he is lenient towards Quakers why not to Catholics? I think we are lucky to have such a king and he will do something for us. Oh, Walter, it infuriates me to think we have to go almost stealthily to Mass and lock the door of the chapel.'

Walter checked this flow by bringing the subject back to Maria.

'Our beautiful daughter is seventeen. Is it not time that we looked for a husband for her?'

Mary sighed. 'It's true, of course, but I wish it were not so. I should love to keep her with me for a little longer.'

'Well, there is no hurry, but we have our duty to her, you know. She will not have a big dowry.'

'Her dowry will be her beauty and her charm, and have you noticed Mr. Smythe that she has in addition to these the sweetest of natures?'

'Your daughter is a paragon, I doubt not, Madam. Therefore, in spite of her small dowry I am sure she will make a most satisfactory marriage.'

'But who is there here in Brambridge?'

'No one worthy of her, I agree. That is why I have come to

discuss with you the possibility of sending her to your rich brother at Red Rice for a visit. I am sure he will be eager to do all that is possible for his charming niece/

Maria's parents were right when they said that Henry Errington would be delighted to welcome his charming niece to his mansion in Red Rice. He had heard accounts of her beauty and when he saw her he was impressed.

He would invite some wealthy and eligible young men to the house if he could find them. That was the problem. He had wealthy neighbours with eligible young sons, but they were Protestants and the most important quality the bridegroom must have was that he must be of the approved religion.

Still, he would do the best he could and he would invite his old friend Edward Weld to come and stay that he might ask his advice. Edward's first wife had been a daughter of Lord Petre, and although unfortunately she was dead, Edward did entertain now and then at Lulworth Castle. Henry knew he would be pleased to help.

In due course Edward Weld arrived at Red Rice and Henry took him to his study to discuss the problem.

'My niece is a delightful creature, educated as few girls are today and in addition lovely to look at and of an engaging disposition. I don't feel it will be difficult to find a husband for her in spite of her lack of dowry.'

'How old is she?' Edward Weld wanted to know.

'Seventeen.'

'Very young.'

'Yes, but my sister has another daughter and she would like to see Maria suitably placed. I wondered, my dear friend, whether you could help me in this matter.'

'I'll do everything I can, of course. What do you suggest?'

'Perhaps you could invite me to Lulworth and include my niece in the invitation?'

'Easily done. You and your niece are invited.'

'We have great pleasure in accepting.'

'Without consulting the young lady?'

'Maria is the most obliging of young women. I only have to

say that I wish to go and her to accompany mc and she will wish to please me.'

'I must say you make me eager to see this charming creature.'

'I love the girl although I have only just made her acquaintance so to speak; she's been in Paris so long and was only a child when I knew her before she went to France. I am not so sure that I'm all that eager for her to marry. I'd like to adopt her and keep her with me.'

4 Her parents would never agree to that, I'm sure.'

'And I'm equally sure of it. But come into the gardens. I think we shall find Maria there.'

Maria was picking roses and her uncle was delighted with the impression she made on his friend, for he had seen that Edward had dismissed his praise of his niece as avuncular pride.

'Maria, my dear, come and meet Mr. Edward Weld.'

She looked up from the rose bush and the flowers, thought her uncle fondly, were not more lovely than she was, as setting down her basket she dropped an enchanting curtsey.

'Mr. Weld has invited me to Lulworth Castle, Maria, and has suggested that you accompany me. How would you like that?'

'It sounds delightful and I shall be most happy to go with you, Uncle.'

'There, Edward,' said Henry Errington, 'Your invitation is accepted.'

Edward Weld smiled, well pleased, and Henry noticed with

pleasure that his friend found it difficult to take his eyes from

Maria.

• • •

Before Edward Weld left the house he told Henry Errington that he wished to speak to him confidentially and Henry asked him to come with him into his library for this purpose.

As soon as they were alone Edward burst out: 'You may have noticed how I feel about Maria. Henry, what chance do you think I should have if I asked her to marry me?'

'You ...Edward!'

'Oh come, Henry, I'm not as old as all that, I am forty-four years of age. Maria is almost eighteen. A disparity I admit, but

I cannot help but love her and I—and you too—can assure her parents that I will cherish her and give her everything that– and more than perhaps—she has been accustomed to.'

'I am sure you would, Edward. Have you spoken to Maria?' 'Certainly not. I have spoken to you first. I should want Maria's family's permission before I spoke to her. Well, Henry?'

Henry was thinking: Edward Weld, a Catholic, a good living man, a rich man, the owner of Lulworth Castle, a widower who had enjoyed one happy marriage with a wife who had been the daughter of a lord. He was sure that Maria's parents could find no fault with such a match.

"There is one thing,' said Henry, 'my sister and brother-in-law dote on the girl. I doubt they would force her into marriage. The answer would depend on her.'

'Perhaps she would be so delighted with the Castle ...'

*I doubt it. Maria would never be tempted by material gain.'

Edward looked a little uneasy. His health was not good; he

was not of an age to shine in courting a young girl; he had

hoped to dazzle her family with his wealth, but if that was of

no account his chances would be small.

His friend laid a hand on his arm. 'Maria is fond of you^I am sure, but I think though that she regards you in the light of an ... uncle, which is natural considering you are my friend. Perhaps that will change. I should not declare your intentions immediately, but I will write to her parents and let them know what they are. In the meantime we will go to Lulworth as arranged.'

Lulworth! What a delightful spot. And Mr. Weld seemed a different man in his own home. She wanted to hear all about the castle; she wanted to explore it. Would she allow Mr. Weld to take her on a tour of inspection? She did not wish to encroach on his time because she was sure he had serious business which did not include wasting his time on a girl like herself. But no, Mr. Weld would be delighted; he was gratified that she should be so interested in his home and he would allow no one to show it to her but himself.