ut
afresh every time John appeared in any livelier garb than his favourite
grey, or was suspected of any more worldly associates than our quiet
selves. He always took my father's attacks patiently--this time
peculiarly so. He made no answer, but passed his hand once or twice
over his brow, as if he could not see clearly.

Abel Fletcher repeated the question.

"Yes; that was Mrs. Jessop, sir."

"I know," grumbled my father. "The doctor is a fool in his old age.
Who did she want thee to meet?"

"She!--Oh, Lady Caroline, you mean?"

"Lady Caroline wishes particularly to see John."

Abel Fletcher stopped, planted his stick in the ground, released his
arm from John's, and eyed him from top to toe.

"Thee?--a woman of quality wanting to see THEE? Young man, thee art a
hypocrite."

"Sir!"

"I knew it! I foresaw how thy fine ways would end! Going to
London--crawling at the heels of grand folk--despising thy honest trade--trying to make thyself appear a gentleman!"

"I hope I am a gentleman."

Words could not describe my father's horrified astonishment. "Oh,
lad!" he cried; "poor, misguided lad!--the Lord have mercy upon thee!"

John smiled--his mind evidently full of other things. Abel Fletcher's
anger grew.

"And thee wants to hang on to the tail of other 'gentlemen,' such as
Richard Brithwood, forsooth!--a fox-hunting, drinking, dicing fool!"

I was shocked; I had not believed him so bad as that--the young
'squire--Miss March's cousin.

"Or," pursued my father, waxing hotter and hotter, "or a 'lady' such as
his wife is, the Jezebel daughter of an Ahab father!--brought up in the
impious atrocities of France, and the debaucheries of Naples, where,
though she keeps it close here, she abode with that vile woman whom
they call Lady Hamilton."

John started. Well he might, for even to our quiet town had come, all
this winter, foul newspaper tales about Nelson and Lady Hamilton.

"Take care," he said, in much agitation. "Any taint upon a woman's
fame harms not her alone but all connected with her. For God's sake,
sir, whether it be true or not, do not whisper in Norton Bury that Lady
Caroline Brithwood is a friend of Lady Hamilton."

"Pshaw! What is either woman to us?"

And my father climbed the steps to his own door, John following.

"Nay, young gentleman, my poor house is hardly good enough for such as
thee."

John turned, cruelly galled, but recovered himself.

"You are unjust to me, Abe