ss May, do tell me what I ought to do. It is such a beauty,
better than any Shearman ever dreamt of; just look: at the finish of
the lock.'

'By the time you have shot with it--'

'Now don't, pray,' said Leonard, 'I haven't any one to trust for advice
but you.'

'Indeed, Leonard, I can see no objection. It is a great boon to you,
and no loss to Hector, and he is quite enough my father's son for you
to look on him as a friend. I can't but be very glad, for the removal
of this vexation ought to make you get on all the better with your
brother.'

'Ave would be delighted,' said Leonard; 'but somehow--'

'Somehow' was silenced by a coalescing of the party at a gate; and
Hector and Harry were found deep in an argument in which the
lieutenant's Indian reminiscences of the Naval Brigade were at issue
with the captain's Southdown practice, and the experiences of the one
meeting the technicalities of the other were so diverting, that Leonard
forgot his scruples till at the entrance of the park he turned off
towards the target with Hector and Aubrey, while the other two walked
up to the house.

The Grange atmosphere always had a strange weight of tedium in it, such
as was specially perceptible after the joyous ease of the house in the
High Street. No one was in the drawing-room, and Harry gazed round at
the stiff, almost petrified, aspect of the correct and tasteful
arrangement of the tables and furniture, put his hands in his pockets,
and yawned twice, asking Ethel why she did not go in search of Flora.
Ethel shook her head; and in another moment Flora appeared in eager
welcome; she had been dressing for a drive to Stoneborough to see her
brother, little expecting him to be in a state for walking to her.
With her came her little girl, a child whose aspect was always a shock
to those who connected her with the two Margarets whose name she bore.
She had inherited her father's heavy mould of feature and dark
complexion, and the black eyes had neither sparkle in themselves nor
relief from the colour of the sallow cheek; the pouting lips were
fretful, the whole appearance unhealthy, and the dark bullet-shaped
head seemed too large for the thin bony little figure. Worn, fagged,
and aged as Flora looked, she had still so much beauty, and far more of
refinement and elegance, as to be a painful foil and contrast to the
child that clung to her, waywardly refusing all response to her uncle's
advances.

Flora made a sign to hi