Her maid was on the box beside the coachman.

Lady Kirkbank's attendant, a Frenchwoman of five-and-thirty, who looked as if she had graduated at Mabille, was to occupy the back seat of the landau.
Lady Mary looked after her sister longingly, as the carriage drove down the hill.

She was going into a new world, to see all kinds of people--clever people--distinguished people--musical, artistic, political people--hunting and shooting people--while Mary was to stay at home all the winter among the old familiar faces.

Dearly as she loved these hills and vales her heart sank a little at the thought of those long lonely months, days and evenings that would be all alike, and which must be spent without sympathetic companionship.

And there would be dreary days on which the weather would keep her a prisoner in her luxurious gaol, when the mountains, and the rugged paths beside the mountain streams, would be inaccessible, when she would be restricted to Fraeulein's phlegmatic society, that lady being stout and lazy, fond of her meals, and given to afternoon slumbers.