WRECKED IN PORT.
A SERIAL STORY BY THE AUTHOR OF "BLACK SHEEP."

                BOOK II.
  CHAPTER II. LADY CAROLINE.

THE LADY CAROLINE liked late hours.
She was of a restless temperament, and
hated solitude, though she was also
intolerant of anything like dulness in her
associates, and had sufficient taste for the
accomplishments which she possessed to
render her independent of society.
Nevertheless she underwent an immense deal of
boredom rather than be alone, and whenever
she found herself in a country house,
she set to work to form a coterie of late
sitters, in order to avoid the early hours
which were her abhorrence. She was not
an empty-headed woman—far from it.
She had a good deal more knowledge than
most women of her class, and a great deal
of appreciation, some native humour, and
much of the kind of tact and knowledge of
society which require the possession and
the exercise of brains. Nobody would have
pronounced her stupid, but every one
agreed that she was supercilious and
superficial. The truth was that she was empty
hearted, and where that void exists, no
qualities of head will fill it; and even
those, who do not know what it is they miss
in the individual, are impressed by the
effect of the deficiency. The Lady Caroline
loved no one in the world except herself,
and sometimes she took that solitary object
of affection in disgust, which, if transient,
was deep. She had arrived at Westhope
in one of these passing fits of ennui,
mingled with impatience and disgust of herself,
and irritation with everybody around her.
She never at any time liked Westhope
particularly, and her brother and his wife
had no more interest for her, no more share
in her affections, than any other dull lord
and lady among the number of dull lords
and ladies with whom she was acquainted.
Her brother loved her rather more than
other people loved her, and Lady Hetherington
and she, though they "got on" charmingly,
knew perfectly well, that the very
tepid regard which they entertained for
each other, had nothing in it resembling
sympathy or companionship.

When the Lady Caroline retired to her
own rooms after the dinner party at which
Walter Joyce had learned the news from
Woolgreaves, she was no more inclined than
usual to try the efficacy of a "beauty"
sleep; but she was much less inclined to
grumble at the dulness of Westhope, to
wish the countess could contrive to have
another woman or two whom she might
talk to of an evening, and who would not
want such a lot of sleep to be resorted to so
absurdly early, and to scold her maid, than
usual. The maid perceived the felicitous
alteration in her ladyship's mood
immediately. It made an important difference
to her. Lady Caroline allowed her to
remove all her ornaments and to brush her
hair without finding fault with her, and
surprised the patient Abigail, who must have
had it "made very well worth her while"
to endure the fatigues of her office, by telling
her she should not require her any
longer, and that she was sure she must be
tired. Left to herself, the Lady Caroline did
not feel so impatient of her solitude as
usual, but fell into a reverie which occupied
her mind completely. We have seen this
nobly-born and, in some respects (chiefly
external), highly-gifted woman as she
appeared among her brother's guests. While
she sat by the fire in her dressing-room—
with which she never dispensed, at any