This was my Lord Windermoor.

In his companion Nance beheld a younger man, tall, quiet, grave, demurely dressed, and wearing his own hair.

Her glance but lighted on him, and she flushed, for in that second she made sure that she had twice betrayed herself--betrayed by the involuntary flash of her black eyes her secret impatience to behold this new companion, and, what was far worse, betrayed her disappointment in the realisation of her dreams.

He, meanwhile, as if unconscious, continued to regard her with unmoved decorum.
'O, a man of wood,' thought Nance.
'What--what ?' said his lordship.

'Who is this ?' 'If you please, my lord, I am Holdaway's niece,' replied Nance, with a curtsey.
'Should have been here himself,' observed his lordship.