ed to you more
than once--la belle de Barras--was, in truth, the attraction that drew me
hither; and I think (for, as yet, she affects hesitation), I shall have
no further trouble with her. She is a fine creature, and you will admit,
when you have seen her, well worth taking some trouble about. She is,
however, a very knowing little minx, and evidently suspects me of being a
sad, fickle dog--and, as I surmise, has some plans, moreover, respecting
my morose cousin, Marston, a kind of wicked Penruddock, who has carried
all his London tastes into his savage retreat, a paradise of bogs and
bushes. There is, I am very confident, a liaison in that quarter. The
young lady is evidently a good deal afraid of him, and insists upon such
precautions in our interviews, that they have been very few, and far
between, indeed. Today, there has been a fracas of some kind. I have no
doubt that Marston, poor devil, is jealous. His situation is really
pitiably comic--with an intriguing mistress, a saintly wife, and a devil
of a jealous temper of his own. I shall meet Mary on reaching town. Has
Clavering (shabby dog!) paid his I.O.U. yet? Tell the little opera woman
she had better be quiet. She ought to know me by this time; I shall do
what is right, but won't submit to be bullied. If she is troublesome,
snap your fingers at her, on my behalf, and leave her to her remedy. I
have written to Gray, to get things at Wynston in order. She will draw
upon you for what money she requires. Send down two or three of the
servants, if they have not already gone. The place is very dusty and
dingy, and needs a great deal of brushing and scouring. I shall see you
in town very soon. By the way, has the claret I ordered from the Dublin
house arrived yet? It is consigned to you, and goes by the 'Lizard'; pay
the freightage, and get Edwards to pack it; ten dozen or so may as well
go down to Wynston, and send other wines in proportion. I leave details
to you...."

Some further directions upon other subjects followed; and having
subscribed the dispatch, and addressed it to the gentlemanlike scoundrel
who filled the onerous office of factotum to this profligate and
exacting man of the world, Sir Wynston Berkley rang his bell, and gave
the two letters into the hand of his man, with special directions to
carry them himself in person, to the post office in the neighboring
village, early next morning. These little matters completed, Sir Wynston
stirred his fire, lean