oor. "Mr. Robarts in his room?" said Buggins, repeating the
gentleman's words. "Yes, Mr. Sowerby; you'll find him there--first
door to the left." And then, remembering that the visitor was a
county member--a position which Buggins regarded as next to that of a
peer--he got up, and, opening the private secretary's door, ushered
in the visitor.

Young Robarts and Mr. Sowerby had, of course, become acquainted in
the days of Harold Smith's reign. During that short time the member
for East Barset had on most days dropped in at the Petty Bag Office
for a minute or two, finding out what the energetic Cabinet minister
was doing, chatting on semi-official subjects, and teaching the
private secretary to laugh at his master. There was nothing,
therefore, in his present visit which need appear to be singular, or
which required any immediate special explanation. He sat himself down
in his ordinary way, and began to speak of the subject of the day.
"We're all to go," said Sowerby.

"So I hear," said the private secretary. "It will give me no trouble,
for, as the respectable Buggins says, we're in the Upper House now."

"What a delightful time those lucky dogs of lords do have!" said
Sowerby. "No constituents, no turning out, no fighting, no necessity
for political opinions; and, as a rule, no such opinions at all!"

"I suppose you're tolerably safe in East Barsetshire?" said Robarts.
"The duke has it pretty much his own way there."

"Yes; the duke does have it pretty much his own way. By the by, where
is your brother?"

"At home," said Robarts; "at least I presume so."

"At Framley or at Barchester? I believe he was in residence at
Barchester not long since."

"He's at Framley now, I know. I got a letter only yesterday from
his wife, with a commission. He was there, and Lord Lufton had just
left."

"Yes; Lufton was down. He started for Norway this morning. I want to
see your brother. You have not heard from him yourself, have you?"

"No; not lately. Mark is a bad correspondent. He would not do at all
for a private secretary."

"At any rate, not to Harold Smith. But you are sure I should not
catch him at Barchester?"

"Send down by telegraph, and he would meet you."

"I don't want to do that. A telegraph message makes such a fuss in
the country, frightening people's wives, and setting all the horses
about the place galloping."

"What is it about?"

"Nothing of any great consequence. I didn't know whether he might