r and a half, so we always called him her young man of the
extra size. Wasn't it funny? But he died of a decline; and I hear
she's a broad as she's long. Well, we must all die!"

"I must wish you good-day, sir. I'm going home," said Miss Arabel,
rising to go away, and assuming as much dignity as she could.

"Well, good-day, and good-luck to you," said the old man. "Why, how
tall you are! and the wick not half covered. You wouldn't do credit to
old Bill Wilkins's manufacture, though I says it as shouldn't. You
ain't much better than one of the single dips. I'll call on your
father one of these fine days; for now that I've come to the
neighbourhood, I've little better to do than pay off old scores--and
interest's been running on for two-and-forty years. Tell him he had
better set a price on Surbridge, and prepare to move, for I want to
buy the estate for a friend of mine."

"I beg, sir--I insist--I don't know you, sir," said the agitated and
angry Arabel.

"He does though. He knows me precious well; and, what's more, you may
tell him my name if you like."

"I will tell him, sir, that he may send you to prison for your
impertinence. He's a magistrate."

"I know all about him. He's a boastful blockhead. Tell him I told you
so. My name is Mr Thomas Roe, 20, Riches Court."

CHAPTER III.

The account given by Miss Arabel of her interview with the hateful
purchaser of the coveted meadows, was so confused, that to persons
less interested in the matter than Mr Gillingham Howard and Miss
Susannah Wilkins, (or Gillingham by brevet,) it would have been
altogether unintelligible. But before these two terror-struck
individuals rose a vision of their detected boasts and overthrown
pretensions, that filled them with dismay. What! Mr Gillingham Howard
exposed in all quarters as the descendant of a tallow-chandler, and
the censorious Miss Susan as having been known from her childhood by
the name of Two-to-the-Pound? Could they silence the accuser by
making him their friend?--or could they repel his revelations by dint
of unhesitating, unqualified lying?--or finally, would it be necessary
to quit the neighbourhood? Mr Gillingham Howard was a tall portly man,
with his hair slightly grizzled, and an air of quiet assurance
reposing on his somewhat coarse features, which his partial aunt
considered the solemn dignity of virtue and high birth. To a less
blinded observed his narrow brow and heavy chin showed strong
indications of th