It had been a great disappointment to the marquis that this child was not a son; but the little Marion Vance was a very beautiful and charming little piece of humanity, although exceedingly high-spirited and wilful, as will be seen ere long.
Her mother had died when she was only twelve years of age, after which she was left to the care of a not too conscientious governess, who enjoyed her own ease and reading French novels more than she did the training of her wild and rebellious pupil.
Thus the motherless girl was left to come up pretty much after her own will, and it is not so much to be wondered at that, with no wise and tender hand to guide, no warning voice to chide, counsel, and direct, her future should be planted with thorns, and that the life which gave promise in its budding of so much beauty and joy should, in the blooming, be marred and blighted by grave and fatal mistakes.
During the summer of Marion Vance’s sixteenth year the marquis permitted her to visit some distant relatives of the family living at Rye, near the sea, in South Sussex County.
These relatives consisted of father, mother, and four gay, blooming daughters, the latter as full of fun and mischief as the day is long; and no one was ever known, up to this time, to visit the Surrey mansion and go away without regretting the bright days that had flown all too quickly.
We have said that Marion Vance was wilful, and a little incident will serve to prove our assertion. Upon reaching her destination on this eventful summer, the obstinate little marchioness elect had insisted upon being introduced into the society frequented by the Surrey family as plain Miss Vance, devoid of either title or any particularly alluring future prospects.
“I shall be so much happier not to be hampered with all the forms and ceremonies that are so irksome at home, and which papa is so tenacious of,” said the little lady, as she persistently argued her point with the family.
“But I am in doubt as to the propriety of such a proceeding for that very reason—your papa would not approve,” demurred Madam Surrey, disliking to refuse the bright girl’s request, yet fearing even more to offend the marquis.
“Ah, please let me be happy in my own way for a little while. At home I am my Lady This and my Lady That, until I hate the word, and long to get out of my straitjacket and enjoy a little freedom,” sighed the fair pleader, coaxingly.
There was no resisting the insinuating tones, the sweet blue eyes, and the pretty, pouting mouth; so for eight short, happy weeks the child of the aristocratic Marquis of Wycliffe was simply Miss Marion Vance, and a merrier quintette than those five—Kate, Ida, Caroline, and Isabel, with Marion—made could not have been found elsewhere in all South Sussex County.