methodically and conscientiously carrying it out. True,
too often, like poor Keats's merchant brothers,--

'Half-ignorant, he turned an easy wheel,
Which set sharp racks at work to pinch and peel.'

But of the harm which he did he was unconscious; in the good which
he did he was consistent and indefatigable; infinitely superior,
with all his defects, to the ignorant, extravagant do-nothing Squire
Lavingtons around him. At heart, however, Mammoth-blinded, he was
kindly and upright. A man of a stately presence; a broad, honest
north-country face; a high square forehead, bland and unwrinkled. I
sketch him here once for all, because I have no part for him after
this scene in my corps de ballet.

Lord Minchampstead had many reasons for patronising Lancelot. In
the first place, he had a true eye for a strong man wherever he met
him; in the next place, Lancelot's uncle the banker, was a stanch
Whig ally of his in the House. 'In the rotten-borough times, Mr.
Smith,' he once said to Lancelot, 'we could have made a senator of
you at once; but, for the sake of finality, we were forced to
relinquish that organ of influence. The Tories had abused it,
really, a little too far; and now we can only make a commissioner of
you--which, after all, is a more useful post, and a more lucrative
one.' But Lancelot had not as yet 'Galliolised,' as the Irish
schoolmaster used to call it, and cared very little to play a
political ninth fiddle.

The first thing which caught his eyes as he entered the drawing-room
before dinner was Argemone listening in absorbed reverence to her
favourite vicar,--a stern, prim, close-shaven, dyspeptic man, with a
meek, cold smile, which might have become a cruel one. He watched
and watched in vain, hoping to catch her eye; but no--there she
stood, and talked and listened--

'Ah,' said Bracebridge, smiling, 'it is in vain, Smith! When did
you know a woman leave the Church for one of us poor laymen?'

'Good heavens!' said Lancelot, impatiently, 'why will they make such
fools of themselves with clergymen?'

'They are quite right. They always like the strong men--the
fighters and the workers. In Voltaire's time they all ran after the
philosophers. In the middle ages, books tell us, they worshipped
the knights errant. They are always on the winning side, the
cunning little beauties. In the war-time, when the soldiers had to
play the world's game, the ladies all