their shells. "There now, isn't it awfully bleak?" says Hector, with
a certain comical exultation. "How was a man ever to live here
without her?" And the best of it is, that Blanche thinks it
beautiful--delicious free air, open space, view over five counties,
&c. Inside, one traces Flora's presiding genius, Hector would never
have made the concern so perfect without her help; and Blanche is no
child in her own house, but is older and more at home than Hector, so
that one would take her for the heiress, making him welcome and at
ease. Not that it is like the Grange, Blanche is furious if I remark
any little unconscious imitation or similarity--"As if we could be
like Flora and George indeed!" Nor will they. If Blanche rules, it
will be unawares to herself. And where Hector is, there will always
be a genial house, overflowing with good-humour and good-nature. He
has actually kept the 1st of September clear of shooting parties that
he may take these two boys out, and give them a thorough day's sport
in his turnip-fields. "License? Nonsense, he thought of that
before, and now Aubrey may get some shooting out of George Rivers."
After such good-nature my mouth is shut, though, ay di me, all the
world and his wife are coming here on Monday evening, and unless I
borrow of Blanche, Mrs. Ernescliffe's sister will "look like ane
scrub."'

* * * * * *

'September 2nd.--Train at Stoneborough, 6.30. That's the best news I
have to give. Oh, it has been a weary while to be out of sight of
you all, though it has been pleasant enough, and the finale is
perfectly brilliant. Blanche, as lady of the house, is a sight to
make a sister proud; she looks as if she were born to nothing else,
and is a model of prettiness and elegance. Hector kept coming up to