Even that gastronomic temptation, however, was insufficient to affix certainty to any of Sir Henry's movements. "He was going to see some yearlings sold," he said--"the trains were all at variance. He should hope to get back the same day, but hadn't an idea whether he could. Helen, who understood 'Bradshaw,' said _not_. All he knew was, he had to meet Mr. Weights, the trainer, at Ascot to-morrow at ten. He should be obliged to get up in the middle of the night!" "_Must_ you go so early?" asked Mrs. Lascelles, with a sympathising smile. "No help for it," answered Sir Henry resignedly. "Shall have to breakfast at nine. Such is life!" So Mrs. Lascelles managed to rise early the following morning, and come down to pour out Sir Henry's coffee, looking exceedingly fresh and handsome the while; but it is probable she might have saved herself the trouble, and enjoyed at least two hours' more beauty-sleep, had she foreseen that Helen would also be in the breakfast-room to keep papa company, as was her custom during his morning meal. So Sir Henry, after an exceedingly hasty repast, started off, with a cigar in his mouth, of course, for the congenial society of a trainer, and the delightful occupation of looking at untried thorough-bred stock that he could not afford to buy, leaving the ladies to such devices of their own as might while away their morning till the welcome hour of post-time. "Letters! letters!" exclaimed Jin, who always took upon herself to superintend its arrival, departure, and, indeed, all arrangements connected with the correspondence at The Lilies; "two for Helen, one for Rose, one for me, and five for Mr. Groves,"--while she dealt from a packet in her hand these several missives to their respective owners, each of whom received the boon with gratitude, except Uncle Joseph. Women, I believe, always like to get letters. To their craving dispositions, I imagine bad news is better than none; and they prefer the excitement of sorrow to the stagnation of no excitement at all. Even towards Christmas, when the majority of written communications tend to disturb our enjoyment of the season, only from male lips is heard the fervent thanksgiving, "No letters? What a blessing!" The ladies, I am persuaded, would rather receive reminders from their dress-makers, than feel themselves cut off from all interest in the daily mail. Uncle Joseph, who expected but little gratification from his epistles, and under the most favourable conditions reflected they would mostly require answers, retired with a growl to peruse them in his own den. Where we may leave him to their full enjoyment, preferring to remain in the bright and cheerful morning-room with the ladies. Miss Ross read her letter with a smile of considerable amusement, and a mischievous glance at Mrs. Lascelles. "From Goldie," said she, "and tolerably coherent, considering the poor thing's state of mind. Do you hear, Rose? I have actually got a letter from _your_ Mr. Goldthred!"