the family
imagined that at Beckley Court they were then residing on somebody
else's ground.

Want of hospitable sentiments was not the cause that led to an
intimation from Sir Franks to his wife, that Mrs. Strike must not be
pressed to remain, and that Rose must not be permitted to have her
own way in this. Knowing very well that Mrs. Shorne spoke through
her husband's mouth, Lady Jocelyn still acquiesced, and Rose, who had
pressed Caroline publicly to stay, had to be silent when the latter
renewed her faint objections; so Caroline said she would leave on the
morrow morning.

Juliana, with her fretfulness, her hand bounties, her petty egoisms, and
sudden far-leaping generosities, and all the contradictory impulses of
her malady, had now departed utterly. The joys of a landed proprietor
mounted into the head of Sir Franks. He was up early the next morning,
and he and Harry walked over a good bit of the ground before breakfast.
Sir Franks meditated making it entail, and favoured Harry with a lecture
on the duty of his shaping the course of his conduct at once after the
model of the landed gentry generally.

'And you may think yourself lucky to come into that catalogue--the son
of a younger son!' said Sir Franks, tapping Mr. Harry's shoulder. Harry
also began to enjoy the look and smell of land. At the breakfast, which,
though early, was well attended, Harry spoke of the adviseability of
felling timber here, planting there, and so forth, after the model
his father held up. Sir Franks nodded approval of his interest in the
estate, but reserved his opinion on matters of detail.

'All I beg of you is,' said Lady Jocelyn, 'that you won't let us have
turnips within the circuit of a mile'; which was obligingly promised.

The morning letters were delivered and opened with the customary
calmness.

'Letter from old George,' Harry sings out, and buzzes over a few lines.
'Halloa!--Hum!' He was going to make a communication, but catching sight
of Caroline, tossed the letter over to Ferdinand, who read it and tossed
it back with the comment of a careless face.

'Read it, Rosey?' says Harry, smiling bluntly.

Rather to his surprise, Rose took the letter. Study her eyes if you
wish to gauge the potency of one strong dose of ridicule on an ingenuous
young heart. She read that Mr. George Uplift had met 'our friend Mr.
Snip' riding, by moonlight, on the road to Beckley. That great orbed
night of their deep tender love flashed lum