“So am I,” said Mr. Jones, with much dignity. It was, however, arranged that he should sit with the coachman, as there was a rumble behind for the other servant. The luggage was put into a cart, and away all went for Thompson Hall. “What do you think about it, Mary?” whispered Mr. Brown, after a pause. He was evidently awe-struck by the horror of the occasion. “I cannot make it out at all. What do you think?” “I don’t know what to think. Jones going to Thompson Hall!” “He’s a very good-looking young man,” said Mrs. Brown. “Well--that’s as people think. A stiff, stuck-up fellow, I should say. Up to this moment he has never forgiven you for what you did to him.” “Would you have forgiven his wife, Charles, if she’d done it to you?” “He hasn’t got a wife--yet.” “How do you know?” “He is coming home now to be married,” said Mr. Brown. “He expects to meet the young lady this very Christmas-day. He told me so. That was one of the reasons why he was so angry at being stopped by what you did last night.” “I suppose he knows Uncle John, or he wouldn’t be going to the Hall,” said Mrs. Brown. “I can’t make it out,” said Mr. Brown, shaking his head. “He looks quite like a gentleman,” said Mrs. Brown, “though he has been so stiff. Jones! Barnaby Jones! You’re sure it was Barnaby?” “That was the name on the card.” “Not Burnaby?” asked Mrs. Brown. “It was Barnaby Jones on the card--just the same as ‘Barnaby Rudge’; and as for looking like a gentleman, I’m by no means quite so sure. A gentleman takes an apology when it’s offered.” [Illustration] “Perhaps, my dear, that depends on the condition of his throat. If you had had a mustard plaster on all night, you might not have liked it. But here we are at Thompson Hall at last.” Thompson Hall was an old brick mansion, standing within a huge iron gate, with a gravel sweep before it. It had stood there before Stratford was a town, or even a suburb, and had then been known by the name of Bow Place. But it had been in the hands of the present family for the last thirty years, and was now known far and wide as Thompson Hall--a comfortable, roomy, old-fashioned place, perhaps a little dark and dull to look at, but much more substantially built than most of our modern villas. Mrs. Brown jumped with alacrity from the carriage, and with a quick step entered the home of her forefathers. Her husband followed her more leisurely; but he too felt that he was at home at Thompson Hall. Then Mr. Jones walked in also; but he looked as though he were not at all at home. It was still very early, and no one of the family was as yet down. In these circumstances it was almost necessary that something should be said to Mr. Jones. “Do you know Mr. Thompson?” asked Mr. Brown. “I never had the pleasure of seeing him--as yet,” answered Mr. Jones, very stiffly. “Oh--I didn’t know. Because you said you were coming here.” “And I have come here. Are you friends of Mr. Thompson?”