Page:Once a Week Volume 7.djvu/35

 28, 1862.] Thomas can drive this young lady to Myrtle Grove.”

I here apologised for my mistake, and the trouble I was occasioning.

“Don’t mention it,” said kind Mrs. Horton, “it was a very natural mistake, and you are not to blame at all. I hope you will make yourself comfortable here until we are able to forward you to your destination.”

She then told her daughters to conduct me upstairs to take off my things, and afterwards to the drawing-room.

Lucy and Mary Horton were such nice girls I felt to like them from the first moment, and the attraction must, I think, have been reciprocal; they could not have been kinder or more attentive to me if I had in reality been the “dear darling” cousin they were expecting. They remained pleasantly chatting beside me till I was ready to go downstairs. I had meanwhile learnt that Myrtle Grove was three miles on the other side of S, and nearly six miles from Crofton Manor; that they knew grandmamma slightly, and would call to see me some day at her house.

“I should think you will find it rather dull there,” said Lucy, the elder Miss Horton.

“Indeed, I know I shall,” I replied dolorously, and again they promised to come and see me.

“We have a grandmamma here at home,” said Mary Horton, “you will see her when you go down; she is such a dear, delightful old lady, everybody loves grandmamma.”

“Oh, then she must be your cousin, Miss Heath’s grandmamma too,” I said; “that accounts for it;” and I told them how I had asked the coachman after grandmamma’s health, and how his reply had somewhat surprised me, never dreaming he could be speaking of anybody else’s grandmamma than my own. Both the girls laughed pleasantly.

“I am glad of the mistake, since it has made us get to know you,” they exclaimed together.

My travelling dress was not at all suited for a début in a drawing-room on the eve of a wedding, as I remarked to the Miss Hortons, and I proposed they should leave me to remain in the bed-room, where a bright fire was burning, and which was furnished luxuriously, quite like a little drawing-room. But they would not hear of such a thing, declared I looked very nice—transparent flattery this—and one on each side they almost carried me down stairs.

Mrs. Horton rose to meet me as I entered the drawing-room; she had told my story beforehand, and everybody seemed to feel for my position, and to try to make me feel as comfortable and as much at home as possible. Though a large, they were entirely a family party, with the exception of two young ladies who were to officiate as bridesmaids on the morrow. There was grandmamma, who looked all that her young relatives had declared her; there was Mr. Horton père, a tall, stout, grave, but benevolent-looking-gentleman; there were a brace of sons, the two daughters I had already seen, and a third, the bride elect, seated by the side of her fiancé. My eye did not at first take in all the rest of the group, but there were about half a dozen others, more distant relatives.

“I hope you don’t feel very tired after your journey,” inquired kind Mrs. Horton. “Has it been a long one?” And when she heard it was nearly 200 miles, she persisted in seating me in an