ay
morning,--eh, my Lord?"

"Yes, that you are," said Beecher; "Dublin, Tuesday evening."

"Just so," said Davis, as he arose; "and I mean to keep my time like
a pendulum. Can I do any little commission for your Ladyship as I pass
through town,--anything at Howell and James's, anything from Storr's?"

"I never heard of them--"

"Quite time enough, Lizzy," broke in Beecher; "not to say that we might
stock a very smart warehouse with the contents of the next room. Don't
forget the courier,--he can join us at Rome; and remember, we shall want
a cook. The 'Mowbray' have an excellent fellow, and I 'm sure an extra
fifty would seduce him, particularly as he hates England, detests a
club, and can't abide the 'Sundays;' and my Lady will require something
smarter than Annette as a maid."

"Oh, I could n't part with Annette!"

"Nor need you; but you must have some one who can dress hair in a
Christian fashion."

"And what do you call that?" asked Grog, with a stare of insolent
meaning.

"My Lord is quite right in the epithet; for I copied my present coiffure
from a picture of a Jewish girl I bought this morning, and I fancy it
becomes me vastly."

There was in the easy coquetry of this speech what at once relieved the
awkwardness of a very ticklish moment, and Beecher rewarded her address
with a smile of gratitude.

"And the house in Portland Place to be let?" murmured Davis, as he read
from his note-book. "What of that box in the Isle of Wight?"

"I rather think we shall keep it on; my sister-in-law liked it, and
might wish to go there."

"Let her buy it or take a lease of it, then," said Grog. "You 'll see,
when you come to look into it, she has been left right well off."

Beecher turned away impatiently, and made no reply.

"All that Herefordshire rubbish of model farm and farming-stock had
better be sold at once. You are not going into that humbug like the late
Lord, I suppose?"

"I have come to no determination about Lackington Court as yet," said
Beecher, coldly.

"The sooner you do, then, the better. There's not a more rotten piece
of expense in the world than southdowns and shorthorns, except it be
Cochin-China hens and blue tulips."

"Let Fordyce look to my subscriptions at the clubs."

"Pure waste of money when you are not going back there."

"But who says that I am not?" asked Beecher, angrily.

"Not yet a bit, at all events," replied Davis, and with a grin of
malicious meaning so significant