and the Masseys, with
their pretension about that daughter who married Lord Claude Somebody,
are so terribly tiresome that I long for the racket and noise of those
bustling young women, who will at least dispel our dulness."

"At the cost of our good breeding."

"At all events, they are Jolly and good-tempered girls. We have known
them for--"

"Oh, don't say how long. The younger one is two years older than
myself."

"No, Mark, Beck is exactly your own age."

"Then I 'm determined to call myself five-and-thirty the first
opportunity I have. She shall have three years tacked to her for the
coming into the world along with me."

"Sally is only thirty-four."

"Only! the idea of saying _only_ to thirty-four."

"They don't look within eight or nine years of it, I declare. I suppose
you will scarcely detect the slightest change in them."

"So much the worse. Any change would improve them, in my eyes."

"And the Captain, too. He, I believe, is now Commodore."

"I perceive there is no change in the mode of travel," said Mark,
pointing to the trunks. "The heavy luggage used always to arrive the
day before they drove up in their vile Irish jaunting-car. Do they still
come in that fashion?"

"Yes; and I really believe with the same horse they had long, long ago."

"A flea-bitten mare with a twisted tail?"

"The very same," cried she, laughing. "I'll certainly tell Beck how well
you remember their horse. She 'll take it as a flattery."

"Tell her what you like; she'll soon find out how much flattery she
has to expect from _me!_" After a short pause, in which he made two
ineffectual attempts to light a cigar, and slightly burned his fingers,
he said, "I 'd not for a hundred pounds that Maitland had met them here.
With simply stupid country gentry, he 'd not care to notice their ways
nor pay attention to their humdrum habits; but these Grahams, with all
their flagrant vulgarity, will be a temptation too irresistible, and he
will leave this to associate us forever in his mind with the two most
ill-bred women in creation."

"You are quite unfair, Mark; they are greatly liked,--at least, people
are glad to have them; and if we only had poor Tony Butler here, who
used to manage them to perfection, they 'd help us wonderfully with all
the dulness around us."

"Thank Heaven we have not. I 'd certainly not face such a constellation
as the three of them. I tell you, frankly, that I 'd pack my portmanteau
and go over to