able, said, "Really,
you expect too much from my subtlety as a note-writer. I think I
'd better request Mr. Dunn to look out for one of those invaluable
creatures they call companions, who pay your bills, correct your French
notes, comb the lapdog, and scold your maid for you. _She_ might be,
perhaps, equal to all this nice diplomacy."

"Not a bad notion, by any means, Gusty," said he, quickly. "A clever
woman would be inestimable for all the correspondence we are like to
have soon; far better than a man,--less obtrusive, more confidential,
not so open to jobbery; a great point,--a very great point. Dunn's the
very man, too, to find out the sort of person we want."

"Something more than governess, and less than lady," said she, half
superciliously.

"The very thing, Gusty,--the very thing. Why, there are women with
breeding enough to be maids of honor, and learning sufficient for a
professor, whose expectations never rise beyond a paltry hundred a
year--what am I saying?--sixty or seventy are nearer the mark. Now for
it, Gusty. Make this object the substance of your letter. You can
have no difficulty in describing what will suit us. We live in
times, unfortunately, when people of birth and station are reduced
to straitened circumstances on every hand. It reminds me of what poor
Hammersley used to say,--'Do you observe,' said he, 'that whenever
there's a great smash on the turf, you 'll always see the coaches horsed
with thoroughbreds for the next year or two!'"

"A very unfeeling remark, if it mean anything at all." "Never mind.
Write this letter, and say at the foot of it, 'We should be much pleased
if, in your journeys 's out'--he's always coming down to Cork and the
neighborhood--you could give us a few days at Glengariff Hermitage. My
father has certain communications to make to you, which he is confident
would exempt your visit from the reproach of mere idleness.' He'll take
that; the fellow is always flattered when you seem impressed by the
immensity of his avocations!" And with a hearty chuckle at the weakness
he was triumphing over, the old Lord left the room, while his daughter
proceeded to compose her letter.

CHAPTER XXIX. A MORNING AT OSTEND.

It would never have occurred to the mind of any one who saw Annesley
Beecher and Davis, as they sat at breakfast together in Ostend, that
such a scene as we have described could have occurred between them. Not
only was their tone frank and friendly with ea