ead over all of us
alike; as the sun shines on just and unjust. We have all of us heard
them; and I have fancied, for my part, that they fell and smote like the
sods on the coffin.

The ceremony over, the undertaker's gentlemen clamber on the roof of
the vacant hearse, into which palls, tressels, trays of feathers, are
inserted, and the horses break out into a trot, and the empty carriages,
expressing the deep grief of the deceased lady's friends, depart
homeward. It is remarked that Lord Kew hardly has any communication with
his cousin, Sir Barnes Newcome. His lordship jumps into a cab, and goes
to the railroad. Issuing from the cemetery, the Marquis of Farintosh
hastily orders that thing to be taken off his hat, and returns to
town in his brougham, smoking a cigar. Sir Barnes Newcome rides in the
brougham beside Lord Farintosh as far as Oxford Street, where he gets
a cab, and goes to the City. For business is business, and must be
attended to, though grief be ever so severe.

A very short time previous to her demise, Mr. Rood (that was Mr.
Rood--that other little gentleman in black, who shared the third
mourning coach along with her ladyship's medical man) had executed a
will by which almost all the Countess's property was devised to her
granddaughter, Ethel Newcome. Lady Kew's decease of course delayed
the marriage projects for a while. The young heiress returned to her
mother's house in Park Lane. I dare say the deep mourning habiliments in
which the domestics of that establishment appeared, were purchased out
of the funds left in his hands, which Ethel's banker and brother had at
her disposal.

Sir Barnes Newcome, who was one of the trustees of his sister's
property, grumbled no doubt because his grandmother had bequeathed to
him but a paltry recompense of five hundred pounds for his pains and
trouble of trusteeship; but his manner to Ethel was extremely bland and
respectful: an heiress now, and to be a marchioness in a few months,
Sir Barnes treated her with a very different regard to that which he was
accustomed to show to other members of his family. For while this worthy
Baronet would contradict his mother at every word she uttered, and take
no pains to disguise his opinion that Lady Anne's intellect was of the
very poorest order, he would listen deferentially to Ethel's smallest
observations, exert himself to amuse her under her grief, which he chose
to take for granted was very severe, visit her constantly