me, of course. He didn't happen to take that particular
five-pound note, but I have not the smallest doubt that he's always up
to something of that sort. I always said it, long before this came
out. Devilish pretty girl that! 'Pon my soul, an amazing little
creature!'

Barbara was the subject of Mr Chuckster's commendations; and as she was
lingering near the carriage (all being now ready for its departure),
that gentleman was suddenly seized with a strong interest in the
proceedings, which impelled him to swagger down the garden, and take up
his position at a convenient ogling distance. Having had great
experience of the sex, and being perfectly acquainted with all those
little artifices which find the readiest road to their hearts, Mr
Chuckster, on taking his ground, planted one hand on his hip, and with
the other adjusted his flowing hair. This is a favourite attitude in
the polite circles, and, accompanied with a graceful whistling, has
been known to do immense execution.

Such, however, is the difference between town and country, that nobody
took the smallest notice of this insinuating figure; the wretches being
wholly engaged in bidding the travellers farewell, in kissing hands to
each other, waving handkerchiefs, and the like tame and vulgar
practices. For now the single gentleman and Mr Garland were in the
carriage, and the post-boy was in the saddle, and Kit, well wrapped and
muffled up, was in the rumble behind; and Mrs Garland was there, and Mr
Abel was there, and Kit's mother was there, and little Jacob was there,
and Barbara's mother was visible in remote perspective, nursing the
ever-wakeful baby; and all were nodding, beckoning, curtseying, or
crying out, 'Good bye!' with all the energy they could express. In
another minute, the carriage was out of sight; and Mr Chuckster
remained alone on the spot where it had lately been, with a vision of
Kit standing up in the rumble waving his hand to Barbara, and of
Barbara in the full light and lustre of his eyes--his
eyes--Chuckster's--Chuckster the successful--on whom ladies of quality
had looked with favour from phaetons in the parks on Sundays--waving
hers to Kit!

How Mr Chuckster, entranced by this monstrous fact, stood for some time
rooted to the earth, protesting within himself that Kit was the Prince
of felonious characters, and very Emperor or Great Mogul of Snobs, and
how he clearly traced this revolting circumstance back to that old
villany of