He cantered gently on now, seeming to take the shower with him, for he could see, on turning, that it was getting fine and bright. But the rain had quite ceased as he rode up to the door of the Brays' seat--a fine old red-brick mansion known as the Elms--just as a groom was leading the ambling palfrey to its stable at the King's Arms--there not being accommodation in the paternal stables--a steed not much more than half the size of the great rawboned hunter favoured by Max's masculine sister. "Why, here's Mr Charley Vining!" cried a shrill loud voice, from an open window. "How de do, Mr Vining--how de do? Come to lunch, haven't you? So glad! And so sorry Laura isn't at home! Caught in the shower, I'm afraid." The owner of the voice appeared at the window, in the shape of a very big bony lady in black satin--bony not so much in figure as in face, which seemed fitted with too much skull, displaying a great deal of cheek prominence, and a macaw-beaked nose, with the skin stretched over it very tightly, forming on the whole an organ of a most resonant character--one that it was necessary to hear before it could be thoroughly believed in. In fact, with all due reverence to a lady's nose, it must be stated that the one in question acted as a sort of war-trump, which Mrs Bray blew with masculine force when about to engage in battle with husband or servant for some case of disputed supremacy. "Ring the bell, girls," shrieked the lady; "and let some one take Mr Vining's horse. Do come in, Mr Vining!" "How do, Vining--how do?" cried a little pudgy man, appearing at the window, but hardly visible beside his lady--Mrs Bray in more ways than one eclipsing her lord. "How do? How's Sir Philip?" "Quite well, thanks; but not coming in," cried Charley, from his horse's back. "Miss Bray and some lady caught in the rain--under tree--bad shelter--want the brougham." "Dear me, how tiresome!" screamed Mrs Bray. "But must we send it, Ness?" Mr Bray, named at his baptism Onesimus, replied by stroking his cheek and looking thoughtfully at his lady. "The rain's about over now, and they might surely walk," shrieked Mrs Bray. "Dudgeon grumbles so, too, when he has to go out like this, and he was ordered for two o'clock." "Better send, my dear," whispered Mr Bray, with a meaning look. "Vining won't like it if you don't." Mrs Bray evidently approved of her husband's counsel; for orders were given that the brougham should be in immediate readiness. "They won't be long," she now screamed, all smiles once more. "But do come in and have some lunch, Mr Vining: don't sit there in your wet clothes." "No--no. I'm all right," cried Charley. "I'm off again directly." But for all that, he lingered. "You'll be at the flower-show to-morrow, won't you?" said Mrs Bray. "Well, yes, I think I shall go," said Charley. "I suppose everybody will be there." "O, of course; Laura's going. I suppose you send some things from the Court?"