that Mr Egremont has promised to join them there. If he do,
they mean to winter at Rome."

"Somebody said he was going to be married," said Lady de Mowbray.

"His mother wishes him to marry," said Lady Bardolf; "but I have heard
nothing."

Mr Mountchesney came in and greeted the Bardolfs with some warmth. "How
delightful in the country in August to meet somebody that you have seen
in London in June!" he exclaimed. "Now, dear Lady Bardolf do tell me
something, for you can conceive nothing so triste as we are here. We
never get a letter. Joan only corresponds with philosophers and Maud
with clergymen; and none of my friends ever write to me."

"Perhaps you never write to them?"

"Well, I never have been a letter writer; because really I never wanted
to write or to be written to. I always knew what was going on because I
was on the spot; I was doing the things that people were writing letters
about--but now not being in the world any longer, doing nothing, living
in the country--and the country in August--I should like to receive
letters every day, but I do not know who to fix upon as a correspondent.
Eugene de Vere will not write, Milford cannot; and as for Fitz-heron he
is so very selfish, he always wants his letters answered."

"That is very unreasonable," said Lady Bardolf.

"Besides what can they tell me at this moment? They have gone to the
Moors and are enjoying themselves. They asked me to go with them, but I
could not go, because you see I could not leave Joan; though why I could
not leave her, I really cannot understand, because Egerton has got some
moors this year, and he leaves Lady Augusta with her father."

Lady Maud entered the room in her bonnet, returning from an airing. She
was all animation--charmed to see everybody; she had been to Mowbray to
hear some singing at the Roman Catholic chapel in that town; a service
had been performed and a collection made for the suffering workpeople of
the place. She had been apprised of it for some days, was told that she
would hear the most beautiful voice that she had ever listened to, but
it had far exceeded her expectations. A female voice it seemed; no
tones could be conceived more tender and yet more thrilling: in short
seraphic.

Mr Mountchesney blamed her for not taking him. He liked music, singing,
especially female singing; when there was so little to amuse him, he was
surprised that Lady Maud had not been careful that he should have
been present. His