Brandon Beeches, in the Thames valley, was the seat of Sir Charles Brandon, seventh baronet of that name.
Lady Brandon, who believed that he understood all the subjects he talked about because she did not understand them herself, was one of his disappointments.
One fine May morning, as she cantered along the avenue at Brandon Beeches on a powerful bay horse, the gates at the end opened and a young man sped through them on a bicycle.
Lady Brandon turned pale and pulled at her horse as if to back him out of some danger.
"Thrown down the wall!" exclaimed Lady Brandon, scarlet with indignation and pale with apprehension by turns.
Lady Brandon, at once suspecting that this was the man from Sallust's House, and encouraged by the loyalty of the crowd, most of whom made way for her and touched their hats, hit the bay horse smartly with her whip and rode him, with a clatter of hoofs and scattering of clods, right at the snuff-colored enemy, who had to spring hastily aside to avoid her.
"I am not Miss Carpenter, I am Lady Brandon; and you ought to be ashamed of yourself, Mr.
"Offering them a path is just what makes them impudent," said Lady Brandon to her husband.
"Why don't the police make them go away?" said Lady Brandon, too excited to listen to her husband.
Colonel Brandon, the friend of Sir John, seemed no more adapted by resemblance of manner to be his friend, than Lady Middleton was to be his wife, or Mrs.
There was nothing in any of the party which could recommend them as companions to the Dashwoods; but the cold insipidity of Lady Middleton was so particularly repulsive, that in comparison of it the gravity of Colonel Brandon, and even the boisterous mirth of Sir John and his mother-in-law was interesting.
Colonel Brandon alone, of all the party, heard her without being in raptures.