going home. They did
once holloa at me, and orders were issued that I should walk no more.
I believe that if they saw me fearless, and coming among them for
friendly purposes, they would leave off hooting; but the notion
frightens granny, so I am a prisoner. They are the people to think it
a mockery to be visited by a lady bedizened as I am, and stuck up in a
carriage; so we can do very little except through Mr. Danvers, and my
uncle is always discontented at the sight of him, and fancies he is
always begging. A little sauciness on my part has the best effect when
anything is wanted, for my uncle is very kind to me in his own fashion,
which is not mine.

'We have made something of a nest in the last of the suite of rooms,
the only one habitably small; but it is wonderful where all the time in
the day goes. My uncle likes me to ride with him in the morning, and I
have to help granny air the horses in the afternoon; and in the
evening, when we are lucky enough to dine alone, I play them both
asleep, unless they go to backgammon. Think of granny reduced to that!
We should be very happy when he is detained in his study, but that
granny thinks it is bad for him. Dear granny!

I see the object of her life is to win him back to serious thoughts.
She seems to think of him like a schoolboy who must be lured to find
home pleasanter than idle ways; and she begs me quite sadly to bear
with him, and make him happy, to prevent him from longing after his
counting-house at Lima. She tried to make him promise never to go
back, but he has only promised never to go while she lives, and she
seems to think it would be fatal, and to charge all his disregard of
religious matters upon herself for having sent him out. If you could
see her pleased smile when we extort a subscription, or when she gets
him to church; but when those South American mails come in on
Sundays--alas! Those accounts are his real element, and his moments of
bliss are over the 'Money-market and City intelligence,' or in
discussing railway shares with Sir Andrew. All the rest is an
obstinate and dismal allegiance to the days of Shrievalty, about as
easy to recall as the days when the Pendragons wore golden collars and
armlets. Imitated hospitality turns into ostentation; and the people
who seek after silver covers and French cookery are no more to my taste
than they are, in good earnest, to Uncle Oliver's. The nice people, if
there are any, won't come in our wa