Tunbridge
Wells, whose father had been at college with Mr. Honeyman, came
regularly in June for sea air, letting Barkhambury for the summer
season. Then, for many years, she had her nephew, as we have seen; and
kind recommendations from the clergymen of Brighton, and a constant
friend in the celebrated Dr. Goodenough of London, who had been her
father's private pupil, and of his college afterwards, who sent his
patients from time to time down to her, and his fellow-physician, Dr.
H----, who on his part would never take any fee from Miss Honeyman,
except a packet of India curry-powder, a ham cured as she only knew how
to cure them, and once a year, or so, a dish of her tea.

"Was there ever such luck as that confounded old Duchess's?" says Mr.
Gawler, coal-merchant and lodging-house keeper, next door but two, whose
apartments were more odious in some respects than Mrs. Bugsby's own.
"Was there ever such devil's own luck, Mrs. G.? It's only a fortnight
ago as I read in the Sussex Advertiser the death of Miss Barkham, of
Barkhambury, Tunbridge Wells, and thinks I, there's a spoke in your
wheel, you stuck-up little old Duchess, with your cussed airs and
impudence. And she ain't put her card up three days; and look yere,
yere's two carriages, two maids, three children, one of them wrapped
up in a Hinjar shawl--man hout a livery,--looks like a foring cove I
think--lady in satin pelisse, and of course they go to the Duchess, be
hanged to her! Of course it's our luck, nothing ever was like our luck.
I'm blowed if I don't put a pistol to my 'ead, and end it, Mrs. G. There
they go in--three, four, six, seven on 'em, and the man. That's the
precious child's physic I suppose he's a-carryin' in the basket. Just
look at the luggage. I say! There's a bloody hand on the first carriage.
It's a baronet, is it? I 'ope your ladyship's very well; and I 'ope
Sir John will soon be down yere to join his family." Mr. Gawler makes
sarcastic bows over the card in his bow-window whilst making this
speech. The little Gawlers rush on to the drawing-room verandah
themselves to examine the new arrivals.

"This is Mrs. Honeyman's?" asks the gentleman designated by Mr. Gawler
as "the foring cove," and hands in a card on which the words, "Miss
Honeyman, 110, Steyne Gardens. J. Goodenough," are written in that
celebrated physician's handwriting. "We want five bet-rooms, six bets,
two or dree sitting-rooms. Have you got dese?"

"Will you speak to my mis