The young baronet dawdled away the lagging morning hours, smoking endless cigars under the waving trees, and waiting for the time when my lady should be visible. She rarely rose before noon, but to-day she deigned to get up at nine. Sir Everard flung away his last cigar, and went bounding up the grand stairs three at a time.
Lady Kingsland sat breakfasting in her boudoir with her daughter--a charming little bijou of a room, all filigree work, and fluted walls, delicious little Greuze paintings, and flowers and perfume--and Lady Kingsland, in an exquisitely becoming robe de matin, at five-and-fifty looked fair and handsome, and scarce middle-aged yet. Time, that deals so gallantly with these blonde beauties, had just thinned the fair hair at the parting, and planted dainty crow's-feet about the patrician mouth, but left no thread of silver under the pretty Parisian lace cap.
Mildred Kingsland, opposite her mother, scarcely bore her thirty years so gracefully. She had had her little romance, and it had been incontinently nipped in the bud by imperious mamma, and she had dutifully yielded, with the pain sharp in her heart all the same. But he was poor, and Mildred was weak, and so Lady Kingsland's only daughter glided uncomplainingly into old-maidenhood.
My lady glanced over her shoulder, and greeted her son with a bright, loving smile. He was her darling and her pride--her earthly idol--the last of the Kingslands.
"Good-morning, Everard! I thought you would have done Mildred and myself the honor of breakfasting with us. Perhaps it is not too late yet. May I offer you a cup of chocolate?"
"Not at all too late, mother mine. I accept your offer and your chocolate on the spot. Milly, good-morning! You are white as your dress! What is the matter?"
"Mildred is fading away to a shadow of late," his mother said. "I must take her to the sea-shore for change."
"When?" asked Sir Everard.
"Let me see. Ah! when you are married, I think. What time did you come home last night, and how is Lady Louise?"
"Lady Louise is very well. My good mother"--half laughing--"are you very anxious for a daughter-in-law at Kingsland to quarrel with?"
"I shall not quarrel with Lady Louise."
"Then, willy-nilly, it must be Lord Carteret's daughter, and no other?"
"Everard," his mother said, earnestly, "you know I have set my heart on seeing Lady Louise your wife; and she loves you, I know. And you, my darling Everard--you will not disappoint me?"
"I should be an ungrateful wretch if I did! Rest easy, ma mère--Lady Louise shall become Lady Kingsland, or the fault shall not be mine. I believed I should have asked the momentous little question last night but for that interloper, George Grosvenor!"