corded in our last
chapter.

"I cannot guess; but I am prepared to say I'll be glad to see any one."

"It is very dull for you, indeed," said he, compassionately.

"No, George, not that. Not half so bad for _me_ as for _you_; but
somehow I felt it would be a relief to have a guest, who would oblige us
to drop our grumblings and exert ourselves to talk of something besides
our own personal worries. Now, who is it?"

"What would you say to Mr. Cutbill?"

"Do you mean the engineering man we saw at Castello?"

"The same."

"Oh, dear! I retract. I recall my last speech, and avow, in
all humility, I was wrong. All I remember of that man--not much
certainly--but all I do remember of him was that he was odious."

"He was amusing, in his way."

"Probably--but I detested 'his way.'"

"The Bramleighs said he was good-natured."

"With all my heart. Give him all the excellent qualities you like; but
he will still remain insufferably ill-bred and coarse-minded. Why did
you ask him, George?"

"I did n't; he asked himself. Here's his note: 'Dear
L'Estrange'--familiar enough--'Dear L'Estrange--I have just arrived
here, and want to have some talk with you. I mean, therefore, to ask you
to let me take a bit of dinner with you to-day. I shall be out by five
or half-past. Don't make a stranger of me, but give me the cold mutton
or whatever it is.--Yours, Tom Cutbill.'"

"What a type of the writer!"

"Well; but what can we get for dinner, Ju?"

"The cold mutton, I think. I 'm sure the gentleman's estimate of his
value as a guest cannot be too low."

"No, Julia, let us treat him to our best. He means kindly by coming out
here to see us."

"I 'd have taken the will for the deed with more of gratitude. Oh,
George," cried she with fervor, "why will you be always so much obliged
to the man who condescends to eat your salt? This Mr. Cutbill will be
your patron for the next twenty-four hours."

"Certainly the man who dines with us cannot come for the excellence of
our fare."

"That is a very ingenious bit of self-flattery; but don't trust
it, George. Men eat bad dinners continually; and there is a sort
of condescension in eating them at a friend's house, which is often
mistaken for good-nature; and the fun of it is that the men who do these
things are very vain of the act."

L'Estrange gave a little shrug of his shoulders. It was his usual reply
to those subtleties which his sister was so fond of, and that he was
never v