Fanny knew that her cousin did not mean to be unkind; but there was no sympathy in her:  she could not talk to her of the only subject which occupied her thoughts; so she retreated to her own room, and endeavoured to compose herself.  As the afternoon drew on, she began to wish that he was not coming till to-morrow.  She became very anxious; she must see him, somewhere, before she dressed for dinner; and she would not, could not, bring herself to go down into the drawing-room, and shake hands with him, when he came, before her uncle, her aunt, and her cousin.

She was still pondering on the subject, when, about four o’clock in the afternoon, she got a message from her aunt, desiring her to go to her in her boudoir.

“That’ll do, Griffiths,” said the countess, as Fanny entered her room; “you can come up when I ring.  Sit down, Fanny; sit down, my dear.  I was thinking Lord Ballindine will soon be here.”

“I suppose he will, aunt.  In his letter to Lord Cashel, he said he’d be here before dinner.”

“I’m sure he’ll be here soon.  Dear me; I’m so glad it’s all made up between you.  I’m sure, Fanny, I hope, and think, and believe, you’ll be very, very happy.”

“Dear aunt”—­and Fanny kissed Lady Cashel.  A word of kindness to her then seemed invaluable.

“It was so very proper in Lord Ballindine to give up his horses, and all that sort of thing,” said the countess; “I’m sure I always said he’d turn out just what he should be; and he is so good-tempered.  I suppose, dear, you’ll go abroad the first thing?”

“I haven’t thought of that yet, aunt,” said Fanny, trying to smile.

“Oh, of course you will; you’ll go to the Rhine, and Switzerland, and Como, and Rome, and those sort of places.  It’ll be very nice:  we went there—­your uncle and I—­and it was delightful; only I used to be very tired.  It wasn’t then we went to Rome though.  I remember now it was after Adolphus was born.  Poor Adolphus!” and her ladyship sighed, as her thoughts went back to the miseries of her eldest born.  “But I’ll tell you why I sent for you, my dear:  you know, I must go downstairs to receive Lord Ballindine, and tell him how glad I am that he’s come back; and I’m sure I am very glad that he’s coming; and your uncle will be there.  But I was thinking you’d perhaps sooner see him first alone.  You’ll be a little flurried, my dear,—­that’s natural; so, if you like, you can remain up here, my dear, in my room, quiet and comfortable, by yourself; and Griffiths shall show Lord Ballindine upstairs, as soon as he leaves the drawing-room.”

“How very, very kind of you, dear aunt!” said Fanny, relieved from her most dreadful difficulty.  And so it was arranged.  Lady Cashel went down into the drawing-room to await her guest, and Fanny brought her book into her aunt’s boudoir, and pretended she would read till Lord Ballindine disturbed her.

I need hardly say that she did not read much.  She sat there over her aunt’s fire, waiting to catch the sound of the wheels on the gravel at the front door.  At one moment she would think that he was never coming—­the time appeared to be so long; and then again, when she heard any sound which might be that of his approach, she would again wish to have a few minutes more to herself.