At present she is fortunate enough to rule everybody she comes in
contact with; her father, his servants, his tenants, the poor, the very
mendicants that come to the door.

Certainly there is something very charming in her appearance, as she
hurries up the fine old avenue that leads to her ancestral home. The
ease of her port, the graceful dignity of her extreme haste, the
heightened colour, and the glowing eye, are all very handsome, in spite
of the coarseness in perspective. The poor footman can scarcely keep up
with her; he has not found the last twenty years at Glanyravon
productive of the same lightness of step to him, as to his young
mistress, and wishes she were a little less agile.

A handsome country house in a good park has not often in itself much of
the picturesque. Ruskin would not consider Glanyravon, with its heavy
porch, massive square walls, and innumerable long windows, a good
specimen of architectural beauty; still it is a most comfortable
dwelling, beautifully situated; and the magnificent woods at the back,
and grand view in front, would make the most unartistic building
picturesque in appearance if not in reality.

Miss Gwynne ran up the broad stairs, through the large hall, and into a
good library. Here a very tall, thin, sickly-looking man was seated in
an easy-chair.

'My dear Freda, I am so thankful you are come!'

'My dear father, how I wish you would not send for me the very moment I
go out. I really cannot be pestered with servants. It fidgets me to
death to have a man walking and puffing after me.'