ere could have been
any previous discomfort between them.

Not very far off from Lady Raikes's carriage, on the hill, there stood a
little black brougham--the quietest and most modest equipage in the
world, and in which there must have been nevertheless something very
attractive, for the young men crowded around this carriage in numbers;
and especially that young reprobate Dolly Trotter was to be seen,
constantly leaning his great elbows on the window, and poking his head
into the carriage. Lady Raikes remarked that, among other gentlemen, her
husband went up and spoke to the little carriage, and when he and Dolly
came back to her, asked who was in the black brougham.

For some time Raikes could not understand which was the brougham she
meant--there was so many broughams. "The black one with the red blinds
was it? Oh, that--that was a very old friend--yes, old Lord Cripplegate,
was in the brougham: he had the gout, and he couldn't walk."

As Raikes made this statement he blushed as red as a geranium; he looked
at Dolly Trotter in an imploring manner, who looked at him, and who
presently went away from his sister's carriage bursting with laughter.
After making the above statement to his wife, Raikes was particularly
polite and attentive to her, and did not leave her side; nor would he
consent to her leaving the carriage. There were all sorts of vulgar
people about: she would be jostled in the crowd: she could not bear the
smell of the cigars--she knew she couldn't (this made Lady Raikes wince
a little): the sticks might knock her darling head off; and so forth.

Raikes is a very accomplished and athletic man, and, as a bachelor,
justly prided himself upon shying at the sticks better than any man in
the army. Perhaps, as he passed the persons engaged in that fascinating
sport, he would have himself liked to join in it; but he declined his
favorite entertainment, and came back faithfully to the side of his
wife.

As Vincent talked at Lady Raikes's side, he alluded to this
accomplishment of her husband. "Your husband has not many
accomplishments," Vincent said (he is a man of rather a sardonic humor),
"but in shying at the sticks he is quite unequalled: he has quite a
genius for it. He ought to have the sticks painted on his carriage, as
the French marshals have their batons. Hasn't he brought you a
pincushion or a jack-in-the-box, Lady Raikes? and has he begun to
neglect you so soon? Every father with a little boy at