me at every opportunity to admire her. "Now, old Ethel, look at her?
Doesn't she look like a picture? I chose that gown, you know;" then
again after dinner, "Well, old Ethel, didn't it go off well? Did you
ever see anything like her? There, just watch her among the old
ladies. I can't think where she learnt it all, can you?" And it
certainly was too perfect to have been learnt. It was not the
oppression that poor dear Flora gives one by doing everything so
well, as if she had perfectly balanced what was due to herself and
everybody else; it was just Blanche, simple and ready, pleasing
herself by doing what people liked, and seeing what they did like.
It was particularly pretty to see how careful both she and Hector
were not to put Leonard aside--indeed, they make more of him than of
Aubrey, who is quite able to find his own level. Even his tender
feelings as to Mab are respected, and Blanche always takes care to
invite her to a safe seat on a fat scarlet cushion on the sofa (Mrs.
Ledwich's wedding present), when the footmen with the tea might be in
danger of demolishing her. Leonard, and his fine eyes, and his dog,
were rather in fashion yesterday evening. Blanche put out his Coombe
sketches for a company trap, and people talked to him about them, and
he was set to sing with Blanche, and then with some of the young
ladies. He seemed to enjoy it, and his nice, modest, gentlemanlike
manner told. The party was not at all amiss in itself. I had a very
nice clerical neighbour, and it is a very different thing to see and
hear Hector at the bottom of the table from having poor dear George
there. But oh! only one dinner more before we see our own table
again, and Tom at the bottom of it. Hurrah! I trust this is the
last letter you will have for many a day, from

'Your loving and dutiful daughter,
'ETHELDRED MAY.'