“Nobody; that is, not anyone you ever heard of Stockport people, called Reppingham. The father, a great railway contractor, vulgar old dog--begun as a navvy--with one daughter, who is to inherit, they say, a quarter of a million; but, up to this, we’ve only an allowance--two thousand a year. The old fellow, however, lives with us--a horrible nuisance.” This speech, given in short, abrupt whispers, was uttered with many signs to indicate that the respected father-in-law was in the vicinity. “Now, of yourself, what’s your news? What have you done last, eh?” “Nothing very remarkable. I have been vegetating on a lake in the north of Italy, trying to live for five shillings a day, and spending three more in brandy, to give me courage to do it.” “But your leave is up; or perhaps you have got renewal?” “No, my leave goes to the fifteenth of October.” “Not a bit of it; we got our leave on the same day, passed the Board the same day, and for exactly the same time. My leave expired on the tenth of August. I’ll show you the paper; I have it here.” “Do so. Let me see it.” Barnard opened his desk, and quickly found the paper he sought for. It was precisely as Barnard said. The Board of Calcutta had confirmed the regimental recommendation, and granted a two-years’ leave, which ended on the tenth of August. “Never mind, man,” said Barnard; “get back to London as hard as you can, furbish up some sick certificate to say that you were unable to quit your bed--” “That is not so easy as you imagine; I have a little affair in hand, which may end in more publicity than I have any fancy for.” And he told him of his approaching meeting with Graham, and asked him to be his friend. “What was the quarrel about?” asked Barnard. “A jealousy; he was going to marry a little cousin I used to flirt with, and we got to words about it. In fact, it is what Sir Lucius would call a very pretty quarrel, and there’s nothing to be done but finish it. You’ll stand by me, won’t you?” “I don’t see how I can. Old Rep, our governor, never leaves me. I’m obliged to report myself about four times a day.” “But you know that can never go on. You needn’t be told by me that no man can continue such a system of slavery, nor is there anything could recompense it. You’ll have to teach her better one of these days; begin at once. My being here gives you a pretext to begin. Start at once--to-day. Just say, ‘I’ll have to show Calvert the lions; he’ll want to hunt up galleries,’ and such-like.” “Hush! here comes my wife. Fanny, let me present to you one of my oldest friends, Calvert It’s a name you have often heard from me.”