"

Aubrey felt as if he should exceedingly have enjoyed despatching Mr
Roland Burgess to the Caucasus, or Cochin-China, or any other
inconceivably remote locality. He did not stay long after that. There
was nothing to keep him. Bows and courtesies were exchanged, and
Aubrey, feeling as if life were flat and unsatisfying, turned into the
White Bear.

It was nearly dusk, and he could not see whom he met by the parlour
door.

"Is that your Lordship?" greeted him, in the voice of Aunt Temperance.
"Blue or yellow this even? Truly, we scarce looked for so much honour
as two visits in the twelvemonth. Why, without I err, 'tis not yet
three months since we had leave to see your Lordship's crimson and
silver. Pray you, walk in--you are as welcome as flowers in May, as
wise as Waltom's calf, and as safe to mend as sour ale in summer."

"You are full of compliments, Aunt Temperance," said Aubrey, half vexed
and half laughing.

"I'm like, with strangers, Gentleman."

Aubrey went past her into the parlour, to receive a warmer and less
sarcastic welcome from the rest of his relatives--his mother excepted,
who reminded him, in her usual plaintive tones, that she was a poor
widow, and it was very hard if she might never see her only child.

"Well, I am here, Mother."

"Ay, but you scarce ever come. 'Tis ever so long that we have not seen
you. 'Tis cruel of my Lord Oxford thus to keep you away from your poor
mother."

"My Lord Oxford has less to do with it, my dear, than Mr Aubrey
Louvaine," said her sister. "Young men don't commonly reckon their
mothers' company the sweetest. They never know on which side their
bread's buttered."

"No butter will stick on my bread, Aunt," said Aubrey, answering one
proverb by another.

Instead of replying, Aunt Temperance lighted a candle and calmly looked
her nephew over.

"Well!" said she, as the result of her inspection, "if I were donned in
grass-green velvet, guarded o' black, with silver tags, and a
silver-bossed girdle, and gloves o' Spanish leather, I should fancy I'd
got a bit o' butter on my bread. Maybe your honour likes it thick?
Promotes effusing of bile, that doth. Pray you, how fare your
Papistical friends this even?"

Lady Louvaine looked up and listened for the answer.

"You set it down they be Papistical somewhat too soon, Aunt," said
Aubrey a little irritably. "Mr Winter and his friends, if they be whom
you hit at, be gone away into the country, and I