When Mr. Masters had gone across to the Bush his purpose had certainly been ignoble¹, but it had had no reference to brandy and water. And the allusion² made by Mrs. Masters to the probable ruin which was to come from his tendencies in that direction had been calumnious³, for she knew that the man was not given to excess in liquor. But as he approached his own house he bethought himself that it would not lead to domestic comfort if he were seen returning from his walk with Mary, and he had therefore made some excuse as to the expediency⁴ of saying a word to Runciman whom he espied⁵ at his own door. He said his word to Runciman, and so loitered away perhaps a quarter of an hour, and then went back to his office. But his wife had kept her anger at burning heat and pounced⁶ upon him before he had taken his seat. Sundown was there copying, sitting with his eyes intent on the board before him as though he were quite unaware⁷ of the sudden entrance of his master's wife. She in her fury did not regard Sundown in the least, but at once commenced her attack. "What is all this, Mr. Masters," she said, "about Lady Ushant and going to Cheltenham? I won't have any going to Cheltenham and that's flat." Now the attorney had altogether made up his mind that his daughter should go to Cheltenham if her friend would receive her. Whatever might be the consequences, they must be borne. But he thought it best to say nothing at the first moment of the attack, and simply turned his sorrowful round face in silence up to the partner of all his cares and the source of so many of them. "There have been letters," continued the lady;—"letters which nobody has told me nothing about. That proud peacock from Hoppet Hall has been here, as though he had nothing to do but carry Mary away about the country just as he pleased. Mary won't go to Cheltenham with him nor yet without him;—not if I am to remain here."

"Where else should you remain, my dear?" asked the attorney.

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