Lord Hartledon, kind, affable, unaffected as ever was his brother Percival, shook hands with her heartily in the eyes of his guests before he said a word of welcome to them; and one of those guests, a remarkably broad woman, with a red face, a wide snub nose, and a front of light flaxen hair, who had stepped into the house leaning on her host's arm--having, in fact, taken it unasked, and seemed to be assuming a great deal of authority--turned round to stare at Mirrable, and screwed her little light eyes together for a better view.
"Who is she, Hartledon ?" "Mrs.Mirrable," answered his lordship rather shortly.

"I think you must have seen her before.

She has been Hartledon's mistress since my mother died," he rather pointedly added, for he saw incipient defiance in the old lady's countenance.
"Oh, Hartledon's head servant; the housekeeper, I presume," cried she, as majestically as her harsh voice allowed her to speak.

"Perhaps you'll tell her who I am, Hartledon; and that I have undertaken to preside here for a little while." "I believe Mrs.Mirrable knows you, ma'am," spoke up Percival Elster, for Lord Hartledon had turned away, and was lost amongst his guests.

"You have seen the Countess-Dowager of Kirton, Mirrable ?" The countess-dowager faced round upon the speaker sharply.
"Oh, it's _you_, Val Elster?
Who asked you to interfere?
I'll see the rooms, Mirrable, and the arrangements you have made.