rd more," says Sir Miles "What? do you think
I'm a cannibal, and won't extend the hand of hospitality to my dear
brother's son? What say you, lads? Will you eat our mutton at three?
This is my neighbour, Tom Claypool, son to Sir Thomas Claypool, Baronet,
and my very good friend. Hey, Tom! Thou wilt be of the party, Tom? Thou
knowest our brew, hey, my boy?"

"Yes, I know it, Sir Miles," replies Tom, with no peculiar expression of
rapture on his face.

"And thou shalt taste it, my boy," thou shalt taste it! What is
there for dinner, my Lady Warrington? Our food is plain, but plenty,
lads--plain, but plenty!"

"We cannot partake of it to-day, sir. We dine with a friend who occupies
my Lord Wrotham's house, your neighbour. Colonel Lambert--Major-General
Lambert he has just been made."

"With two daughters, I think--countrified-looking girls--are they not?"
asks Flora.

"I think I have remarked two little rather dowdy things," says Dora.

"They are as good girls as any in England!" breaks out Harry, to whom no
one had thought of saying a single word. His reign was over, you see. He
was nobody. What wonder, then, that he should not be visible?

"Oh, indeed, cousin!" says Dora, with a glance at the young man, who
sate with burning cheeks, chafing at the humiliation put upon him, but
not knowing how or whether he should notice it. "Oh, indeed, cousin! You
are very charitable--or very lucky, I'm sure! You see angels where we
only see ordinary little persons. I'm sure I could not imagine who were
those odd-looking people in Lord Wrotham's coach, with his handsome
liveries. But if they were three angels, I have nothing to say."

"My brother is an enthusiast," interposes George. "He is often mistaken
about women."

"Oh, really!" says Dora, looking a little uneasy.

"I fear my nephew Henry has indeed met with some unfavourable specimens
of our sex," the matron remarks, with a groan.

"We are so easily taken in, madam--we are both very young yet--we shall
grow older and learn better."

"Most sincerely, nephew George, I trust you may. You have my best
wishes, my prayers, for your brother's welfare and your own. No efforts
of ours have been wanting. At a painful moment, to which I will not
further allude--"

"And when my uncle Sir Miles was out of town," says George, looking
towards the Baronet, who smiles at him with affectionate approval.

"--I sent your brother a work which I thought might comfort him, and I
know m