Mr. Beresford, after leaving Bissett, went for a short visit to a bachelor friend with a shooting-box in Norfolk; and after enjoying some excellent sport, and nearly boring himself to death, in the company of his host and a few hard-drinking sporting squires of the neighbourhood, returned to town--to his lodgings in South Audley Street, and to his daily routine of life. He did not at all dislike London in the autumn, when he had no calls to make; when he could wear out his old clothes; could smoke in the streets at any hour without loss of dignity; could get a little quiet reading and a little quiet play-going; and need not fear the admonitory missives of duns, who concluded that all their customers were, or ought to be, out of town at that dull season. Moreover, he had not spent all of the last two hundred pounds he had borrowed, and had received his October quarter's salary; so that, on the whole, he was in very good case, and came smiling radiantly into Simnel's room on the first morning after his return. Mr. Simnel, as usual, had a pile of papers before him; but he pushed them aside at Beresford's entrance; rose up, welcomed him; and placing his back against the mantelpiece, at once entered into conversation. "Well, Mr. Commissioner," he commenced; "so you've got back to the hive, eh? and now I suppose you mean to remain and let one of the other hard-worked members of the Board have a little rest, eh?" "Yes," replied Beresford; "I'm a fixture now for a long time; I must take to the collar, and stick to it; but you, old fellow,--do you mean to say you've been here all this blessed time?" "I've not moved away yet," said Simnel; "some one must do the work, you know," he added with a meaning grin. "Yes, I knew, of course; and a deuced hard grind you've had of it. But you'll go away now, I suppose?" "No; I shall run down to Leicestershire and get a little hunting next month perhaps that is, if I can get away; and I might take a fortnight in Paris at Christmas, just to avoid the 'God bless yous!' and 'Happy years!' and other jackass congratulations, which I hate and abominate." "Genial creature!" said Beresford, regarding him with great complacency "what's the news?" "That's just what I should ask you," retorted Simnel; "there's no news here. Sir Hickory has been to the Lakes, and 'my lady' was much pleased with Ullswater; which is more, I should think, than Ullswater was with 'my lady,' always supposing Ullswater to have any taste. Old Peck has slept as much as usual but has not devoted as much time as he generally does to his get-up, and has consequently been rather red and rusty about his beard. O'Scanlon has been dying for your return, that he may get away; and the men in the Office are just the same as ever. Oh, by the way, I see that marriage has come off?" "Which marriage?" "That man Churchill, who was staying with you at old Wentworth's, has married that dashing girl--what was her name--?--Lexden!"