country is not to be lived in," said he to Lady Julia; "it gets
worse and worse every year. I am sure I never had any comfort in Lisle
Court. I've a great mind to sell it."

"Why, indeed, as we have no sons, only daughters, and Ernest is so well
provided for," said Lady Julia, "and the place is so far from London,
and the neighbourhood is so disagreeable, I think we could do very well
without it."

Colonel Maltravers made no answer, but he revolved the pros and cons;
and then he began to think how much it cost him in gamekeepers and
carpenters and bailiffs and gardeners and Heaven knows whom besides; and
then the pagoda flashed across him; and then the cabbage-stalks, and at
last he went to his solicitor.

"You may sell Lisle Court," said he, quietly.

The solicitor dipped his pen in the ink. "The particulars, Colonel?"

"Particulars of Lisle Court! everybody, that is, every gentleman, knows
Lisle Court!"

"Price, sir?"

"You know the rents; calculate accordingly. It will be too large
a purchase for one individual; sell the outlying woods and farms
separately from the rest."

"We must draw up an advertisement, Colonel."

"Advertise Lisle Court! out of the question, sir. I can have no
publicity given to my intention: mention it quietly to any capitalist;
but keep it out of the papers till it is all settled. In a week or two
you will find a purchaser,--the sooner the better."

Besides his horror of newspaper comments and newspaper puffs, Colonel
Maltravers dreaded that his brother--then in Paris--should learn his
intention, and attempt to thwart it; and, somehow or other, the colonel
was a little in awe of Ernest, and a little ashamed of his resolution.
He did not know that, by a singular coincidence, Ernest himself had
thought of selling Burleigh.

The solicitor was by no means pleased with this way of settling the
matter. However, he whispered it about that Lisle Court was in the
market; and as it really was one of the most celebrated places of
its kind in England, the whisper spread among bankers and brewers and
soap-boilers and other rich people--the Medici of the New Noblesse
rising up amongst us--till at last it reached the ears of Mr. Douce.

Lord Vargrave, however bad a man he might be, had not many of those
vices of character which belong to what I may call the _personal class
of vices_,--that is, he had no ill-will to individuals. He was not,
ordinarily, a jealous man, nor a spiteful, nor a malig