sister, seemingly, of the one who had half dragged
her clothes off her back in the custom-house—
with short petticoats of linsey-woolsey, and very
stout legs, and very thick shoes, and a very
round back, on which were poised the lady's
large portmanteau, and Cutwig and Co.'s outfit.
The old lady wore a mob-cap too, but she
wore a man's hat over that, and a pea-jacket
over her gown body, and presented a hybrid
maritime appearance.

They found at last a carriage, and were taken
to an hotel. And there Lily was put to bed.
Quite exhausted and tired, she fell into a blessed
balmy sleep, and did not wake up till late in the
afternoon, when she found herself ravenously
hungry, and as well as a little girl of eight years
of age, with whom there had been nothing the
matter but a bad fit of sea-sickness on the
previous day, could be.

The lady was writing letters at a little table
by the bedside.

"You lazy little thing," she said, but not very
harshly. "We should have been on our road to
Paris, hours ago. You have made me miss the
diligence, and now we shall have to wait until
to-morrow morning."

Some dinner was ordered, and it was brought
by a waiter who looked quite like a gentleman,
and had beautiful whiskers—but not
so beautiful as those of the gentleman with the
chocolate—and a clean white apron that reached
down to his slippered feet. They had only a
bedroom; "and," thought Lily to herself,
"whatever would Mrs. Bunnycastle think if a man
with whiskers were to come into her bedroom!"

Lily had a little cutlet for dinner, and some
potatoes fried a delicate brown. The thin wine
they gave her, though it tasted sour, was of a
beautiful crimson colour, and Lily thought she
would very much like to have a dress for a doll
of that hue.

"I like dining here better than at the large
house that smelt of fish so," she said, emboldened
by the not unfavourable glance the lady had cast
upon her while she was eating. "It is almost
as good as dinner at school."

The lady frowned. "Petite bavarde," she
returned. "One wants to hear no comparisons.
You are to forget Greenwich, you are to forget
the school where you were spoilt and petted by
those foolish old women. You are going to a
school where you will be treated properly, and
have very different dinners."

Lily sighed, and relapsed into silence.

Towards sunset the lady took her for a walk
about the streets, which seemed very strange to
Lily, but pleased her infinitely. The houses
were very white, and most of the windows had
bright green blinds. The shops were full of
the most delightful toys that Lily had ever seen,
and among them she recognised with delight
numerous little dolls the exact effigy of the
old woman in the pea-jacket and the short
petticoat, who had carried the lady's portmanteau
and Cutwig and Co.'s trunk, from the
custom-house to the carriage. Only these dolls
hadn't any short pipes in their mouths, as the
real woman had.

If Lily had been with Miss Barbara Bunnycastle,
she would have dragged her to the window,
and kept her there for ten minutes discussing the
merits of these dolls. If she had been with the
tall gentleman who kissed her at Greenwich—
she seemed to feel the impress of his lips on her
forehead now—she would have asked him boldly
to buy her one of the dolls, and would have told
him that she would pay for it when she grew up.
But she was afraid to say such things to the lady,
and could only sate herself with the fascinating
images by casting furtive glances over her
shoulder. She could not help, however—as they
passed another shop whose window was
positively bursting with dolls—asking the lady who
the old women at the custom-house were, and
why some of them wore red petticoats and some
blue? They had met more ancient dames of the
same stamp in the street that afternoon; but
they were barefoot, and wore yellow kirtles, and
carried great nets slung on sticks over their
shoulders.

The lady told her, tartly, that the old women
were sailors' widows. "It is good to be a
widow," she continued, "when your husband is
a robber, and a villain, and a làche. Now ask
me no more questions. Tu m'agaces."

They went for a walk on the pier, where it
blew very hard, and a brave colour came into
Lily's cheeks, which the agony of the Harlequin
had rendered wan. They met a good many
gentlemen who seemed on speaking terms with
the lady. Some of them patted Lily on the
head, but she did not like them. They seemed
coarse and rude to her.

"They are not so nice as the gentlemen at
Greenwich," she remarked, timidly. "Ah! what
a nice gentleman that was who said he was
wicked! But I don't believe he was wicked.
He had such beautiful eyes, and he was so kind
to me. I don't like these gentlemen."

Her companion angrily bade her, for a little fool,
hold her tongue, and they resumed their promenade.
They passed a great many ladies who were
not on speaking terms with the countess, but were
on staring terms with, or rather at, her. They
looked at her very hard, and then averted their
heads.

At first the lady was scornful, and muttered
that there was no need for them to turn up their
noses, nature having turned them up quite
sufficiently as it was. But anon she grew fierce;
and, as they turned back from the pier-head,
cried, loud enough for Lily to hear her:

"Malediction! Am I the cholera? Am I the
plague? I buy my bonnets where those English
misses buy theirs. I use the same whalebone
and buckram. I paint myself with the same
paint. Why do they stare at me as though I
were a beast in the Jardin des Plantes?"

Why indeed? Lily could not tell. She
had seen some ladies as handsome as the