hgate's
and Farintosh's accounts withdrawn." The wretched keeper of the lodge
owned, with trembling, in reply to the curses and queries of his
employer, that a gentleman, calling himself the Marquis of Farintosh,
had gone up to the house the day before, and come away an hour
afterwards,--did not like to speak to Sir Barnes when he came home, Sir
Barnes looked so bad like.

Now, of course, there could be no concealment from her brother, and
Ethel and Barnes had a conversation, in which the latter expressed
himself with that freedom of language which characterised the head of
the house of Newcome. Madame de Moncontour's pony-chaise was in waiting
at the hall door, when the owner of the house entered it; and my wife
was just taking leave of Ethel and her little people when Sir Barnes
Newcome entered the lady's sitting-room.

The livid scowl with which Barnes greeted my wife surprised that lady,
though it did not induce her to prolong her visit to her friend. As
Laura took leave, she heard Sir Barnes screaming to the nurses to "take
those little beggars away," and she rightly conjectured that some more
unpleasantries had occurred to disturb this luckless gentleman's temper.

On the morrow, dearest Ethel's usual courier, one of the boys from the
lodge, trotted over on his donkey to dearest Laura at Rosebury, with
one of those missives which were daily passing between the ladies. This
letter said:--

"Barnes m'a fait une scene terrible hier. I was obliged to tell him
everything about Lord F., and to use the plainest language. At first,
he forbade you the house. He thinks that you have been the cause of F.'s
dismissal, and charged me, most unjustly, with a desire to bring back
poor C. N. I replied as became me, and told him fairly I would leave the
house if odious insulting charges were made against me, if my friends
were not received. He stormed, he cried, he employed his usual
language,--he was in a dreadful state. He relented and asked pardon. He
goes to town to-night by the mail-train. Of course you come as usual,
dear, dear Laura. I am miserable without you; and you know I cannot
leave poor mamma. Clarykin sends a thousand kisses to little Arty; and I
am his mother's always affectionate--E. N.

"Will the gentlemen like to shoot our pheasants? Please ask the Prince
to let Warren know when. I sent a brace to poor dear old Mrs. Mason, and
had such a nice letter from her!"

"And who is poor dear Mrs. Mason" asks Mr