We had a delightful apartment assigned to us—a large, airy room, with an adjacent sitting-room, all prettily fitted up, for my mother, and a turret-room near by for me. My lady made an excuse for giving me so small a lodging, saying that some of the bedrooms were being refitted in preparation for her daughter's marriage.
"Pray make no excuses," said my mother. "I venture to say this is just the sort of room my daughter would choose."
"Yes, indeed," I added, as my lady turned to me; "I love a turret-room above all things."
"Then we are all suited," said my lady kindly; "but you are not looking quite well, sweetheart."
I assured her that I was well and only tired with my journey, and so with more kind words, she left us to ourselves.
We unpacked our mails and dressed ourselves, and then at the summons of a waiting-gentlewoman, we descended to the withdrawing-room, my mother having first recommended Dinah to the attention of this same gentlewoman, who said she would show her to the room of Mrs. Carey, the housekeeper.
"And is Mrs. Carey still living?" asked my mother. "She must be very old."
"She is so, madame," answered the waiting-damsel; "but she is still hale and active, and does all the work my lady will allow. This way, madame, if you please."
She conducted us to the open door of my lady's withdrawing-room, which was very splendidly fitted up—quite as fine as anything I had seen in London—and now filled with company. We were led into the room by my lord himself, who espied us in a moment, and placed in seats of honor. Indeed, both he and my lady seemed to think they could not show my mother too much respect.
A great many people were presented to us, among them Mrs. Martha's servant Captain Bernard, a fine young gentleman, with a good, serious, kindly face. The young ladies presently made their appearance, to be chid by their mother for their delay, to which Mrs. Theo returned a smiling excuse, and Mrs. Martha none at all.