f with resignation to the inevitable, and
comforted herself with the reflection that the time of unchecked
masculine dominion was well-nigh over, and that the days were very near
at hand when "Miss Vera" was coming to alter all this.

"Ah, well, it won't last long, poor gentleman!" the worthy lady said to
herself, in allusion to Sir John's uninvaded sanctum; "let him enjoy his
pigstye while he can. When his wife comes she will soon have the place
swept clean out for him."

So the papers, and the books, and the pipes, and the tobacco-tins were
left heaped up all over the tables and chairs, and the fox-terriers sat
in high places on the sofa cushions; and the brothers smoked their pipes
after their meals, emptied their ashes on to the tables, threw their
empty soda-water bottles into a corner of the room, wore their slippers
at all hours, and lapsed, in fact, into all those delightful methods of
living at ease practised by the vicious nature inherent in man when he is
unchecked by female influence; whilst Mrs. Eccles groaned in silence, but
possessed her soul in patience by reason of that change which she knew to
be coming over the internal economy of Kynaston Hall.

Maurice Kynaston reclines at ease in the most comfortable arm-chair in
the room, his feet reposing upon a second chair; his pipe is in his
mouth, and his hands in his trouser pockets; he wears a loose, gray
shooting-jacket, and Sir John's favourite terrier, Vic, has curled
herself into a little round white ball upon his outstretched legs.
Maurice has just been reading his morning's correspondence, and a letter
from Helen, announcing that her grandfather is ill and confined to his
room by bronchitis, is still in his hand. He looks gloomily and
abstractedly into the red logs of the wood fire. The door opens.

"Any orders for the stable, Captain?"

"None to-day, Mrs. Eccles."

"You are not going out hunting?"

"No, I am going to take a rest. By the way, Mrs. Eccles, I shall be
leaving to-morrow, so you can see about packing my things."

"Dear me! sir, I hope we shall see you again, at the wedding."

"Very unlikely; I don't like weddings, Mrs. Eccles; the only one I ever
mean to dance at is yours. When you get married, you let me know."

"Law! sir, how you do go on!" said the old lady, laughing; not
ill-pleased at the imputation. "Dear me," she went on, looking round the
room uneasily, "did I ever see such a mess in all my born days. Now Sir
John is ou