any one remarked the extraordinary scarcity
of haddocks? Often and often, out at his
government, he had thought wistfully of that
delicacy—there were moments when he would have
given worlds for it—a sort of craving. Always
chose fish in person—not at all above it.
Champagne lifted dripping out of a pail; little blocks
dropped tingling into the glasses. Slight gossip
upon wines. Sir Hopkins leading. "Widow
falling off," he said, alluding to the famous relict
of M. Clicquot. "Think she is getting sweet;
begin to prefer Moët." In episcopal eyes it
was a dissenting wine. "I am told," said the
bishop, holding his glass delicately, much as if
he were about to play cup-and-ball with it, and
were waiting till the string was steady, "I am
told we shall shortly have no port—absolutely
no port. We shall look for the old brands in
vain. This is unsatisfactory. It comes of the
levelling tone of the age. What shall we do at
Buzzard's Abbey. I say, what shall we do at
visitations? Curates require port."

"We must—er—pay for it," said Sir Charles,
suddenly, and seeing with difficulty, "as we—
er—must, for everything good."

Entrées. Lecture and illustrations. This a
leg of lamb. Capon brown as mahogany. With
a mysterious mayonnaise, which it was hinted
by the host would, on his own death, become
like the lost art of staining glass.

Apricot tart, ice-pudding, more light lecturing,
a little politics, and a little local gossip. Going
to be an agricultural show and ball. A surprised
"No?" all round, with a disbelief as to
your telling us so. But the question was,
would old Bullington, who had the large dairy
farm—would he send? On which query Sir
Charles struggled nervously into utterance.
"He is very—er—busy, as I know, his hands
are full as—er—I may say. Son, I understand,
making a poor sort of match; no money, and
that sort of thing."

"This is a very barren country, I am told,"
said the diplomatist. "No heiresses about here
—not a single one."

Major Carter shook his head deferentially.
"There is one, Sir Hopkins, and a real heiress."
Sir Hopkins doubted if he told him so. Really
now? Yes. What would they say to forty
thousand pounds? What would they say to an
only child? What would they say to positive
good looks, 'bating a little delicacy? What
would they say to a doting father? What—
but ask our Captain Fermor there, who is quite
ami de la maison."

Fermor started. He really had not known
of whom they were speaking. He was, in fact, so
startled out of his natural coldness, that he said,
"Forty thousand pounds! Are you quite sure?"

The bishop, listening keenly lest the birds
should come his way, asked, "And what views
might that large sum represent—Dissenting
or Jewish?" He had long had a scheme in his
head which would absorb that sum, ay, and a
good deal more. It was surprising how
Latitudinarianism was encroaching—combined, too,
with Neologism. But he had a scheme for
portioning out the whole country into Circles; he
would have proper persons appointed who would
sift each Circle. The thing should be organised,
but money would be wanting. A grand battue,
in short.

CHAPTER XXXI. CLOUDS IN THE AIR.

FERMOR was beginning to grow sour and
pettish at the restive course his life was taking.
He felt towards it much as he had done towards
a shying and kicking horse that he once rode.

In this train of mind, he again set the
decorators at work, put together the new
"Hachettes," and went in to call at his next door
neighbour's. He wanted a little soothing, too;
and often a successful visit, he said, was a
glass of anisette to a Frenchman.

Miss Carlay's eyes sparkled as he entered,
and she half rose. The colour came to her
cheeks. He was greatly delighted with her
confidence in him, and the naïveté of her almost
unconcealed liking.

"I would give the world to see her" she
said, fixing her soft, honest eyes on him. "When
I am strong enough to drive out, which will be
to-morrow, I shall get papa to take me where
she is walking. I can look at her hard, without
being rude."

Fermor good naturedly passed over the false
expression in this speech, for he might have told
her it would be rudeness all the same; then
said, "Why not see her in the regular way? I
tell you what, Violet shall come and see you."

"No, no," said she, eagerly, and colouring.
"Not for the world."

"Why not?" said Fermor, still watching her.

"Violet!" she said. "O, what a charming
name! And I am sure suits her."

"Yes," he said, carelessly, "it does. I confess,
I rather fancy a name of a more neutral
tint. You expect everything to be in harmony—
to be shrinking like a violet."

"And I am sure she shrinks. Tell me now."

"Yes," said Fermor, laughing. "She does
almost a little too much. I almost like your
name—Mary—better."

"O no, no," said she, in some confusion.
"You only say that."

"I speak of the name in general," he said,
gravely.

At this instant the face of Sir Hopkins was
looking round the edge of the door, as if he had
his eye to a telescope. "May I come in? Eh?"

"My dear Charles, you here! Just dropped
in to see Mr. Carlay. Carter was to have met
me. Miss Carlay, I am sure. Charles, I must
ask you—"

The delicate girl received the visitor with
perfect self-possession. No shell had exploded
in that drawing-room. She went to meet him
with the smile and with the welcome of well-
bred acquaintanceship. She was sorry her father
was out, and seemed not in the least embarrassed
at having to play the conversational game against
two gentlemen. She uttered the usual hopes
and questions. Was Sir Hopkins going to stay
with them long, and how did he like the place?