when he said, "Belier, mon ami, commencez au commencement."
Lady Anne Granard was the only daughter of the Earl of Rotheles, whose house was one of the most ancient in the west of England. I do not know whether they quite went the lengths of the Castillian genealogy which mentions as a slight episode, "about this time the world was created." Certainly the house of Rotheles went back to a most glorious obscurity of land-chiefs and sea-kings, the noblest mixture of robbers and pirates that ever entitled descendants to be proud of their origin.
The family property was large, but so heavily mortgaged, that ready money realised Wordsworth's description of the cuckoo; it was
"a fear, a hope;
Talked of, but never seen."
From her childhood Lady Anne had been impressed with that first duty of a portionless beauty—the necessity of making a good match.
Speculations in trade are not confined to the counter or to the counting-house. Lady Anne's fair hair and white teeth were as much objects of barter as any of the shawls or ribbons displayed in Bond Street. They were to be had in exchange for a suit of diamonds and an opera-box.
Mr. Granard, of Granard Park, became the fortunate purchaser. For five years every thing went on exceedingly well, excepting that every year a daughter
