opposite to her found himself drawn to gaze
on that face by a fascination that seemed
almost painful. The Doctor was in "tearing
spirits," and presently came to take his
seat in a light silky gossamer coat, while
Billy Webber sat on the box next the driver.
Underneath the carriage, like a vast diving-bell,
hung and swung the basket. They
drove away magnificently through the town,
sweeping past the Leader Arms, the young
ladies sitting in the back part of the carriage,
the two gentlemen facing them.
People looked up, as they went by, and
smiled. It was settled now. That clever,
scheming Doctor had caught the young
fellow. He was stooping forward talking
eagerly: he was proud to be seen in this
position of honour by some of his "own
fellows," who only winked at each other
after they had raised their hats. The Doctor
gave them a benediction, and, as the carriage
got out on the country road, began
to exhibit his high spirits.

He led off with a trick on the Reverend
Mr. Webber, who, like most professional
wits, was a little low and silent in the sunlight.
He was arrayed in strict clerical
costume, except that his coat was of that
black, glossy, silky texture affected by the
clergy on their summer excursions.
Accompanying it was a felt hat, also clerical,
but dégagé. The Doctor was very merry
on this costume, and presently he had a
"trick" arranged. "A pin, Katey, for the
love of Heaven!" he whispered, and he
pinned the clergyman's long coat-tails,
which hung over the box-seat, to the
cushion. Then he said innocently, "Billy,
can you see old Shipton's crazy castle yet?
Polly's getting impatient." Mr. Webber
started up; there was a crack, a tear, and
the lovely skirt was nearly torn across.
Mr. Webber was furious.

"Such a weak, childish joke! I've a good
mind to get down and leave you. 'Pon
my honour, Peter, you ought to try and
act having a little sense."

The Doctor nearly fell out of the carriage
laughing.

CHAPTER XXVIII. SHIPTON.

BUT they were now close to Shipton,
had entered its gates, and were going up
the avenue. "A poor hungry place," as
the Doctor said: the grass hungry and
thirsty, and very little of it to suffer those
inconveniences. There was the house, a
plain square building, a grey, damp-looking
mansion, "the seat of Lord Shipton,"
the poor nobleman. Everything about it
had an air of penury and of "hungry-ness,"
which the Doctor was so fond of
alluding to. The trees, flowers, grass,
walks, all were hungry. The owner himself,
on the door-steps, waiting for them,
looked hungry enough. Two or three
carriages were drawn up.

"Welcome to Shipton!" said his lord
ship, heartily. Behind him were grouped
the members of his family. His lordship
wore a sort of holiday suit, in which a very
old pair of white gaiters were conspicuous,
giving the idea that he was in his slippers,
and had not long got up. He had
also on an old grey shooting-coat, very
high in the waist, and whose greyness,
like the plaster on Shipton, was more the
result of weather, rough usage, and dirt,
than of any natural or dyed colour. The
two Miss Shiptons came forward to greet
the visitors; one tall, the other short, both
thin, and both with an irritated look about
their noses, as though the frost had been
hard on them. Their mouths, too, had a
tightened sour look, as if, said the Doctor,
"some one had taken away a strong lemon
from them." They always spoke in a very
tart fashion; and their heads were
ornamented with some very gaudy hats, in
honour of the day.

"Ah! my dear Leader, got you out here
at last. Here, let me introduce you to my
two daughters: Amelia, Mr. Cecil Leader;
Julia, Mr. Cecil Leader. You must try
and be as clever as you can before him:
he's uncommon skilful in reading
character. So be on your guard, my dears.
Show Mr. Leader over the house. Curious
old place; genuine, if nothing else. Doctor,
I want to speak to you."

Instantly the young heir was led away,
the Doctor being artfully detained and
hindered from interfering. There was,
literally, nothing to exhibit to the young
man. The house was a poor place, that had
not been painted for twenty years, with
walls of a dirty green oil colour. An old
Indian paper, utterly faded out, decorated
the drawing-room with sprawling trees and
birds sitting on the branches. The
furniture was of very black mahogany and
brass, with a dull carpet, over which a
faint faded pattern had once meandered.
But what dispirited the visitor most were
the "rare stuffed birds," shot by some
Shipton uncle or grandfather in the
colonies; and over the doors, and on the tops
of cupboards and wardrobes, and down on
the ground under sideboards and tables,
were chilly-looking black and glass cases,