The Gurrage family have arrived.  We saw carts and a carriage going to meet them at the station.  Their liveries are prune and scarlet, and look so inharmonious, and they seem to have crests and coats of arms on every possible thing.  Young Mr. Gurrage is our landlord ­but I think I said that before.

On Sunday in church the party entered the Ledstone family pew.  An oldish woman with a huddled figure ­how unlike grandmamma! ­looking about the class of a housekeeper; a girl of my age, with red hair and white eye-lashes and a buff hat on; and a young man, dark, thick, common-looking.  He seemed kind to his mother, though, and arranged a cushion for her.  Their pew is at right angles to the one I sit in, so I have a full view of them all the time.  He has box-pleated teeth ­which seem quite unnecessary when dentists are so good now.  No one would have missed at least four of them if they had been pulled out when he was a boy.  His eyes are wishy-washy in spite of being brown, and he looks as if he did not have enough sleep.  They were all three self-conscious and conscious of other people.  Grandmamma says in a public place, unless the exigencies of politeness require one to come into personal contact with people, one ought never to be aware that there is anything but tables and chairs about.  I have not once in my life seen her even glance around, and yet nothing escapes her hawk eye.  Coming out they passed me on the path to the church gate, and Mrs. Gurrage stopped, and said: 

“Good-mornin’, me dear; you must be our new tenant at the cottage.”

Her voice is the voice of quite a common person and has the broad accent of some county ­I don’t know which.

I was so astonished at being called “me dear” by a stranger that for half a second I almost forgot grandmamma’s maxim of “let nothing in life put you out of countenance.”  However, I did manage to say: 

“Yes, I am Miss Athelstan.”

Then the young man said, “I hope you find everything to your liking there, and that my agent has made things comfortable.”

“We are quite pleased with the cottage,” I said.

“Well, don’t stand on ceremony,” the old woman continued.  “Come up and see us at The Hall whenever you like, me dear, and I’ll be round callin’ on your grandma one of these days soon, but don’t let that stop her if she likes to look in at me first.”

I thought of grandmamma “looking in” on this person, and I could have laughed aloud; however, I managed to say, politely, that my grandmother was an aged lady and somewhat rheumatic, and as we had not a carriage I hoped Mrs. Gurrage would excuse her paying her respects in person.

“Rheumatic, is she?  Well, I have the very thing for the j’ints.  My still-room maid makes it under my own directions.  I’ll bring some when I call.  Good-day to you, me dear,” and they bustled on into the arms of the parson’s family and other people who were waiting to give them a gushing welcome at the gate.

Grandmamma laughed so when I told her about them!

Two days afterwards Mrs. Gurrage and Miss Hoad (the red-haired girl is the niece) came to call.

Grandmamma was seated as usual in the old Louis XV. bergère, which is one of our household gods.  It does not go with the other furniture in the room, which is a “drawing-room suite” of black and gold, upholstered with magenta, but we have covered that up as well as we can with pieces of old brocade from grandmamma’s stored treasures.

After the first greetings were over and Mrs. Gurrage had seated herself in the other arm-chair, her knees pointing north and south, she began about the rheumatism stuff for the “j’ints.”

“I can see by yer hands ye’re a great sufferer,” she said.

“Alas! madam, one of the penalties of old age,” grandmamma replied, in her fine, thin voice.

Then Mrs. Gurrage explained just how the mixture was to be rubbed in, and all about it.  During this I had been trying to talk to Miss Hoad, but she was so ill at ease and so taken up with looking round the room that we soon lapsed into silence.  Presently I heard Mrs. Gurrage say ­she also had been busy examining the room: 

“Well, you have been good tenants, coverin’ up the suite, but you’ve no call to do it.  You wouldn’t be likely to soil it much, and I always say when you let a house furnished, you can’t expect it to continue without wear and tear; so don’t, please, bother to cover it with those old things.  Lor’ bless me, it takes me back to see it!  It was my first suite after I married Mr. Gurrage, and we had a pretty place on Balham Hill.  We put it here because Augustus did not want anything the least shabby up at The Hall, and I take it kind of you to have cared for it so.”

Grandmamma’s face never changed; not the least twinkle came into her eye ­she is wonderful.  I could hardly keep from gurgling with laughter and was obliged to make quite an irritating rattle with the teaspoons.  Grandmamma frowned at that.

By the end of the visit we had been invited to view all the glories of The Hall. (The place is called Ledstone Park; The Hall, apparently, is Mrs. Gurrage’s pet name for the house itself.) We would not find anything old or shabby there, she assured us.

When they had gone grandmamma said to me, in a voice that always causes my knees to shake, “Why did you not make a reverence to Mrs. Gurrage, may I ask?”

“Oh, grandmamma,” I said, “courtesy to that person!  She would not have understood in the least, and would only have thought it was the village ‘bob’ to a superior.”

“My child,” ­grandmamma’s voice can be terrible in its fine distinctness ­“my teaching has been of little avail if you have not understood the point, that one has not good manners for the effect they produce ­but for what is due to one’s self.  This person ­who, I admit, should have entered by the back door and stayed in the kitchen with Hephzibah ­happened to be our guest and is a woman of years ­and yet, because she displeased your senses you failed to remember that you yourself are a gentlewoman.  What she thought or thinks is of not the smallest importance in the world, but let me ask you in future to remember, at least, that you are my granddaughter.”

A big lump came in my throat.

I hate the Gurrages!

The next day one of the old maids ­a Miss Burton ­arrived just as we were having tea.  She was full of excitement at the return of the owners of Ledstone, and gave us a quantity of information about them in spite of grandmamma’s aloofness from all gossip.  It appears, even in the country in England, Mrs. Gurrage is considered quite an oddity, but every one knows and accepts her, because she is so charitable and gives hundreds to any scheme the great ladies start.

She was the daughter of a small publican in one of the southern counties, Miss Burton said, and married Mr. Gurrage, then a commercial traveller in carpets. (How does one travel in carpets?) Anyway, whatever that is, he rose and became a partner, and finally amassed a huge fortune, and when they were both quite old they got “Augustus.”  He was “a puny, delicate boy,” to quote Miss Burton again, and was not sent to school ­only to Cambridge later on.  Perhaps that is what gives him that look of his things fitting wrong, and his skin being puffy and flabby, as if he had never been knocked about by other boys.  My friend of the knife, even with his coating of mud, looked quite different.

Oh!  I wonder if I shall ever know any people of one’s own sort that one has not to be polite to against the grain because one happens to be one’s self a lady.  Perhaps there are numbers of nice people in this neighborhood, but they naturally don’t trouble about us in our tiny cottage, and so we see practically nobody.

Just as Miss Burton was leaving Mr. Gurrage rode up.  He tried to open the gate with the end of his whip, but he could not, and would have had to dismount only Miss Burton rushed forward to open it for him.  Then he got down and held the bridle over his arm and walked up the little path.

“Send some one to hold my horse,” he said to Hephzibah, who answered his ring at the door.  I could hear, as the window was a little open and he has a loud voice.

“There is no one to send, sir,” said Hephzibah, who, I am sure, felt annoyed.  Two laborers happened to be passing in the road, and he got one of them to hold his horse, and so came in at last.  He is unattractive when you see him in a room; he seemed blustering and yet ill at ease.  But he did not thank us for keeping the suite clean!  He was awfully friendly, and asked us to make use of his garden, and, in fact, anything we wanted.  I hardly spoke at all.

“You have made a snug little crib of it,” he said, in such a patronizing voice ­how I dislike sentences like that; I don’t know whether or no they are slang (grandmamma says I use slang myself sometimes!), but “a snug little crib” does not please me.  He took off his glove when I gave him some tea, and he has thick, common hands, and he fidgeted and bounced up if I moved to take grandmamma her cup, and said each time, “Allow me,” and that is another sentence I do not like.  In fact, I think he is a horrid young man, and I wish he was not our landlord.  He actually squeezed my hand when he said good-bye.  I had no intention of doing more than to make a bow, but he thrust his hand out so that I could not help it.

“You’ll find your way up to Ledstone, anyway, won’t you?” he said, with a sort of affectionate look.

Grandmamma found him insupportable, she told me when he was gone.  She even preferred the mother.

The following week I was sent up to The Hall with Roy and grandmamma’s card to return the visit.  They were at home, unfortunately, and I had to leave my dear companion lying on the steps to wait for me.  Such a fearful house!  An enormous stained-glass window in the hall, the shape of a church window, only not with saints and angels in it; more like the pattern of a kaleidoscope that one peeps into with one eye, and then bunches of roses and silly daisies in some of the panes, which, I am sure, are unsuitable to a stained-glass window.  There were ugly negro figures from Venice, holding plates, in the passage, and stuffed bears for lamps, and such a look of newness about everything!  I was taken along to Mrs. Gurrage’s “budwar,” as she called it.  That was a room to remember!  It had a “suite” in it like the one at the cottage, only with Louis XV. legs and Louis XVI. backs, and a general expression of distortion, and all of the newest gilt-and-crimson satin brocade.  And under a glass case in the corner was the top of a wedding-cake and a bunch of orange blossoms.

I was kept waiting about ten minutes, and then Mrs. Gurrage bustled in, fastening her cuff.  I can’t put down all she said, but it was one continual praise of “Gussie” and his wealth and the jewels he had given her, and how disappointed he would be not to see me.  Miss Hoad poured out the tea and giggled twice.  I think she must be what Hephzibah calls “wanting.”  At last I got away.  Roy barked with pleasure as we started homeward.

We had not gone a hundred yards before we met Mr. Gurrage coming up the drive.  He insisted upon turning back and walking with me.  He said it was “beastly hard luck” ­he has horrid phrases ­his being out when I came, and would I please not to walk so fast, as we should so soon arrive at the cottage, and he wanted to talk to me.  I simply pranced on after that.  I do not know why people should want to talk to one when one does not want to talk to them.  I was not agreeable, but he did all the speaking.  He told me he belonged to the Yeomanry and they were “jolly fellows” and were going to give a ball soon at Tilchester ­the county town nearest here ­and that I must let his mother take me to it.  It was to be a send-off to the detachment which had volunteered for South Africa.

A ball!  Oh!  I should like to go to a ball.  What could it feel like, I wonder, to have on a white tulle dress and to dance all the evening.  Would grandmamma ever let me?  Oh! it made my heart beat.  But suddenly a cold dash came ­I could not go with a person like Mrs. Gurrage.  I would rather stay at home than that.  When we got to the gate I said good-bye and gave him two fingers, but he was not the least daunted, and, seizing all my hand, said: 

“Now, don’t send me away; I want to come in and see your grandmother.”

There was nothing left for me to do, and he followed me into the house and into the drawing-room.

Grandmamma was sitting as usual in her chair.  She does not have to fluster in, buttoning her cuff, when people call.

“Mr. Gurrage wishes to see you, grandmamma,” I said, as I kissed her hand, and then I left them to take off my hat and I did not come down again until I heard the front door shut.

“That is a terrible young man, Ambrosine,” grandmamma said, when I did return to the drawing-room.  “How could you encourage him to walk back with you?”

“Indeed, grandmamma, I did not wish him to come; he did not even ask my leave; he just walked beside me.”

“Well, well,” grandmamma said, and she raised my face in her hands.  I was sitting on a low stool so as to get the last of the light for my embroidery.  She pushed the hair back from my forehead ­I wear it brushed up like Ambrosine Eustasie de Calincourt ­and she looked and looked into my eyes.  If possible there was something pained and wistful in her face.  “My beautiful Ambrosine,” she said, and that was all.  I felt I was blushing all over my cheeks.  “Beautiful Ambrosine.”  Then it must be true if grandmamma said it.  I had often thought so ­perhaps ­myself, but I was not sure if other people might think so too.

It is six weeks now since the Gurrages returned, and constantly, oh! but constantly has that young man come across my path.  I think I grow to dislike him more as time goes on.  He is so persistent and thick of ideas, and he always does things in the wrong place.  I feel afraid to go for my walks, as he seems to be loitering about.  I sneak out of the back door and choose the most secluded lanes, but it does not matter; he somehow turns up.  Certainly three times a week do I have to put up with his company in one way or another.  It is a perfect insult to think of such a person as an admirer, and I annihilated Hephzibah, who had the impertinence to suggest such a thing to me when she was brushing my hair a few days ago.  The ball is coming off, but grandmamma has not seemed very well lately.  It is nothing much, just a bluish look round her mouth, but I fear perhaps she will not be fit to go.  When the invitation came ­brought down by Mrs. Gurrage in person ­grandmamma said she never allowed me to go out without herself, but she would be very pleased to take me.  I was perfectly thunderstruck when I heard her say it.  She ­grandmamma ­going out at night!  It was so good of her, and when I thanked her afterwards, all she said was, “I seldom do things without a reason, Ambrosine.”

Oh, the delight in getting my dress!  We hired the fly from the Crown and Sceptre and Hephzibah drove with me into Tilchester with a list of things to get, written out by grandmamma ­these were only the small etceteras; the dress itself is to come from Paris!  I was frightened almost at the dreadful expense, but grandmamma would hear nothing from me.  “My granddaughter does not go to her first ball arrayed like a provinciale,” she told me.  I do not know what it is to be, she did not consult me, but I feel all jumping with excitement when I think of it.  Only four days more before the ball, and the box from Paris is coming to-morrow.

The Gurrages are to have a large party ­some cousins and friends.  I am sure they will not be interesting.  They asked us to dine and go on with them, but grandmamma said that would be too fatiguing for her, and we are going straight from the cottage, I do not quite know what has happened.  A few days ago, after lunch, grandmamma had a kind of fainting fit.  It frightened me terribly, and the under-servant ran for the doctor.  She had revived when he came, and she sent me out of the room at once, and saw him alone without even Hephzibah.  He stayed a very long time, and when he came down he looked at me strangely and said: 

“Your grandmother is all right now and you can go to her.  I think she wishes to send a telegram, which I will take.”

He then asked to see Hephzibah, and I ran quickly to grandmamma.  She was sitting perfectly upright as usual, and, except for the slight bluish look round her mouth, seemed quite herself.  She made me get her the foreign telegram forms, and wrote a long telegram, thinking between the words, but never altering one.  She folded it and told me to get some money from Hephzibah and take it to the doctor.  Her eyes looked prouder than ever, but her hand shook a little.  A vague feeling of fear came over me which has never left me since.  Even when I am excited thinking of my dress, I seem to feel some shadow in the background.

Yesterday grandmamma received a telegram and told me we might expect the Marquis de Rochermont by the usual train in the evening, and at six he arrived.  He greeted me with even extra courtesy and made me compliment.  I cannot understand it all ­he has never before come so early in the year (this is May).  What can it mean?  Grandmamma sent me out of the room directly, and we did not have dinner until eight o’clock.  I could hear their voices from my room, and they seemed talking very earnestly, and not so gayly as usual.

At dinner the Marquis, for the first time, addressed his conversation to me.  He prefers to speak in English ­to show what a linguist he is, I suppose.  He made me many compliments, and said how very like I was growing to my ancestress, Ambrosine Eustasie de Calincourt, and he told me again the old story of the guillotine.  Grandmamma seemed watching me.

“Ambrosine is a true daughter of the race,” she said.  “I think I could promise you that under the same circumstances she would behave in the same manner.”

How proud I felt!