ed him,--everybody, that is,
almost everybody!" And he would steal a sly glance at his daughter, half
imploringly, as though to say, "How long are you to sit in that small
minority?"

Whether the weather would permit of Beecher's coming out to see them,
whether he 'd be able to "stay and take his bit of dinner with them,"
were subjects of as great anxiety to poor Kellett each succeeding
Sunday morning as though there ever had been a solitary exception to
the wished-for occurrence; and Bella would never destroy the pleasure
of anticipation by the slightest hint that might impair the value he
attached to the event.

"There's so many trying to get him," he would say; "they pester his life
out with invitations,--the Chancellor and Lord Killybegs and the Bishop
of Drumsna always asking him to name his day; but he 'd rather come out
and take his bit of roast mutton with ourselves, and his glass of punch
after it, than he 'd eat venison and drink claret with the best of them.
There's not a table in Dublin, from the Castle down, that would n't
be proud of his company; and why not?" He would pause after uttering a
challenge of this sort; and then, as his daughter would show no signs of
acceptance, he would mutter on, "A real gentleman born and bred, and how
anybody can _mislike_ him is more than I am really able to comprehend!"

These little grumblings, which never produced more than a smile from
Bella, were a kind of weekly homily which poor Kellett liked to deliver,
and he felt, when he had uttered it, as one who had paid a just tribute
to worth and virtue.

[Illustration: 066]

"There's Beecher already, by Jove!" cried Kellett, as he sprang up
from the breakfast-table to open the little wicket which the other was
vainly endeavoring to unhasp. "How early he is!"

Let us take the opportunity to present him to our readers,--a duty the
more imperative, since, to all outward semblance at least, he would
appear little to warrant the flattering estimate his friend so lately
bestowed upon him. About four or five-and-thirty, somewhat above the
middle size, and with all the air and bearing of a man of fashion,
Beecher had the gay, easy, light-hearted look of one with whom the world
went habitually well; and when it did not, more was the shame of the
said world! since a better, nobler, more generous fellow than himself
never existed; and this _he_ knew, however others might ungraciously
hold an opposite opinion. There was not the