The Chief Baron brought his friend Haire back from Court to dine with him. The table had been laid for five, and it was only when Sewell entered the drawing-room that it was known Lady Lendrick had declined the invitation. Sir William heard the apology to the end; he even waited when Sewell concluded, to see if he desired to add anything more, but nothing came.

“In that case,” said he, at length, “we 'll order dinner.” That his irritation was extreme needed no close observation to detect, and the bell-rope came down with the pull by which he summoned the servant.

The dinner proceeded drearily enough. None liked to adventure on a remark which might lead to something unpleasant in discussion, and little was spoken on any side. Sewell praised the mutton, and the Chief Baron bowed stiffly. When Haire remarked that the pale sherry was excellent, he dryly told the butler to “fill Mr. Haire's glass;” and though Lucy, with more caution, was silent, she did not escape, for he turned towards her and said, “We have not been favored with a word from your lips, Miss Lendrick; I hope these neuralgic headaches are not becoming a family affection.”

“I am perfectly well, sir,” said she, with a smile.

“It is Haire's fault, then,” said the Judge, with one of his malicious twinkles of the eye,—“all Haire's fault if we are dull. It is ever so with wits, Colonel Sewell; they will not perform to empty benches.”

“I don't know whom you call a wit,” began Haire.

“My dear friend, the men of pleasantry and happy conceits must no more deny the reputation that attaches to them than must a rich merchant dishonor his bill; nor need a man resent more being called a Wit, than being styled a Poet, a Painter, a Chief Baron, or”—here he waved his hand towards Sewell, and bowing slightly, added—“a Chief Registrar to the Court of Exchequer.”

“Oh, have you got the appointment?” said Haire to the Colonel. “I am heartily glad of it. I 'm delighted to know it has been given to one of the family.”

“As I said awhile ago,” said the Judge, with a smile of deeper malice, “these witty fellows spare nobody! At the very moment he praises the sherry he disparages the host. Why should not this place be filled by one of my family, Haire? I call upon you to show cause.”

“There's no reason against it. I never said there was. Nay, I was far from satisfied with you on the day you refused my prayer on behalf of one belonging to you.”

“Sir, you are travelling out of the record,” said the Judge, angrily.

“I can only say,” added Haire, “that I wish Colonel Sewell joy with all my heart; and if he 'll allow me, I 'll do it in a bumper.”

“'A reason fair to drink his health again!' That 's not the line. How does it go, Lucy? Don't you remember the verse?”

“No, sir; I never heard it.”

“'A reason fair,—a reason fair.' I declare I believe the newspapers are right. I am losing my memory. One of the scurrilous rascals t'other day said they saw no reason Justice should be deaf as well as blind. Haire, was that yours?”

“A thousand a year,” muttered Haire to Sewell.

“What is that, Haire?” cried the old Judge. “Do I hear you aright? You utter one thousand things just as good every year?”

“I was speaking of the Registrar's salary,” said Haire, half testily.

“A thousand a year is a pittance,—a mere pittance, sir, in a country like England. It is like the place at a window to see a procession. You may gaze on the passing tide of humanity, but must not dare to mix in it.”

“And yet papa went half across the globe for it,” said Lucy, with a flushed and burning cheek.

“In your father's profession the rewards are less money, Lucy, than the esteem and regard of society. I have ever thought it wise of our rulers not to bestow titles on physicians, but to leave them the unobtrusive and undistinguished comforters of every class and condition. The equal of any,—the companion of all.”

It was evident that the old Judge was eager for discussion on anything. He had tried in vain to provoke each of his guests, and he was almost irritable at the deference accorded him.

“Do I see you pass the decanter, Colonel Sewell? Are you not drinking any wine?”

“No, my Lord.”

“Perhaps you like coffee? Don't you think, Lucy, you could give him some?”

“Yes, sir. I shall be delighted.”

“Very well. Haire and I will finish this magnum, and then join you in the drawing-room.”

Lucy took Sewells arm and retired. They were scarcely well out of the room when Sewell halted suddenly, and in a voice so artificial that, if Lucy had been given to suspectfulness, she would have detected at once, said, “Is the Judge always as pleasant and as witty as we saw him today?”

“To-day he was very far from himself; something, I 'm sure, must have irritated him, for he was not in his usual mood.”

“I confess I thought him charming; so full of neat reply, pleasant apropos, and happy quotation.”

“He very often has days of all that you have just said, and I am delighted with them.”

“What an immense gain to a young girl—of course, I mean one whose education and tastes have fitted her for it—to be the companion of such a mind as his! Who is this Mr. Haire?”

“A very old friend. I believe he was a schoolfellow of grandpapa's.”

“Not his equal, I suspect, in ability or knowledge.”

“Oh, nothing like it; a most worthy man, respected by every one, and devotedly attached to grandpapa, but not clever.”

“The Chief, I remarked, called him witty,” said Sewell with a faint twinkle in his eye.

“It was done in jest. He is fond of fathering on him the smart sayings of the day, and watching his attempts to disown them.”

“And Haire likes that?”

“I believe he likes grandpapa in every mood he has.”

“What an invaluable friend! I wish to Heaven he could find such another for me. I want—there 's nothing I want more than some one who would always approve of me.”

“Perhaps you might push this fidelity further than grandpapa does,” said she, with a smile.

“You mean that it might not always be so easy to applaud me.”

She only laughed, and made no effort to disclaim the assertion.

“Well,” said he, with a sigh, “who knows but if I live to be old and rich I may be fortunate enough to have such an accommodating friend? Who are the other 'intimates' here? I ask because we are going to be domesticated also.”

“I heard so this morning.”

“I hope with pleasure, though you have n't said as much.”

“With pleasure, certainly; but with more misgiving than pleasure.”

“Pray explain this.”

“Simply that the very quiet life we lead here would not be endurable by people who like the world, and whom the world likes. We never see any one, we never go out, we-have not even those second-hand glances at society that people have who admit gossiping acquaintances; in fact, regard what you have witnessed to-day as a dinner-party, and then fashion for yourself our ordinary life.”

“And do you like it?”

“I know nothing else, and I am tolerably happy. If papa and Tom were here, I should be perfectly happy.”

“By Jove! you startle me,” said he, throwing away the unlighted cigar he had held for some minutes in his fingers; “I did n't know it was so bad.”

“It is possible he may relax for you and Mrs. Sewell; indeed, I think it more than likely that he will.”

“Ay, but the relaxation might only be in favor of a few more like that old gent we had to-day. No, no; the thing will never work. I see it at once. My mother said we could not possibly stand it three weeks, and I perceive it is your opinion too.”

“I did not say so much,” said she, smiling.

“Joking apart,” said he, in a tone that assuredly bespoke sincerity, “I could n't stand such a dinner as we had to-day very often. I can bear being bullied, for I was brought up to it. I served on Rolffe's staff in Bombay for four years, and when a man has been an aide-de-camp he knows what being bullied means; but what I could not endure is that outpouring of conceit mingled with rotten recollections. Another evening of it would kill me.”

“I certainly would not advise your coming here at that price,” said she, with a gravity almost comical.

“The difficulty is how to get off. He appears to me to resent as an affront everything that differs from his own views.”

“He is not accustomed to much contradiction.”

“Not to any at all!”

The energy with which he said this made her laugh heartily, and he half smiled at the situation himself.

“They are coming upstairs,” said she; “will you ring for tea?—the bell is beside you.”

“Oh, if they 're coming I 'm off. I promised my mother a short visit this evening. Make my excuses if I am asked for;” and with this he slipped from the room and went his way.

“Where's the Colonel, Lucy? Has he gone to bed?”

“No, sir, he has gone to see his mother; he had made some engagement to visit her this evening.”

“This new school of politeness is too liberal for my taste. When we were young men, Haire, we would not have ventured to leave the house where we had dined without saluting the host.”

“I take it we must keep up with the spirit of our time.” “You mistake, Haire,—it is the spirit of our time is in arrear. It is that same spirit lagging behind, and deserting the post it once occupied, makes us seem in default. Let us have the cribbage-board, Lucy. Haire has said all the smart things he means to give us this evening, and I will take my revenge at the only game at which I am his master. Haire, who reads men like a book, Lucy,” continued the Chief, as he dealt the cards, “says that our gallant friend will rebel against our humdrum life here. I demur to the opinion,—what say you?” But he was now deep in his game, and never heeded the answer.