Uncle Phineas, would you mind going to see ?" Who should I see, but almost the last person I expected--who had not been beheld, hardly spoken of, in our household these ten years--Lady Caroline Brithwood, in her travelling-habit of green cloth, her velvet riding-hat, with its Prince of Wales' feathers, gayer than ever--though her pretty face was withering under the paint, and her lively manner growing coarse and bold.
"Is this Longfield ?--Does Mr.Halifax--mon Dieu, Mr.Fletcher, is that you ?" She held out her hand with the frankest condescension, and in the brightest humour in the world.

She insisted on sending on the carriage, and accompanying me down to the stream, for a "surprise"-- a "scene." Mrs.Halifax, seeing the coach drive on, had evidently forgotten all about it.

She stood in the little dell which the stream had made, Walter in her arms--her figure thrown back, so as to poise the child's weight.

Her right hand kept firm hold of Guy, who was paddling barefoot in the stream: Edwin, the only one of the boys who never gave any trouble, was soberly digging away, beside little Muriel.
The lady clapped her hands.

"Brava! bravissima! a charming family picture, Mrs.Halifax." "Lady Caroline!" Ursula left her children, and came to greet her old acquaintance, whom she had never once seen since she was Ursula Halifax.