Maltravers was now warmly attached to his new friend, and eager for change. Cleveland was sorry to part with him; but he dreaded a relapse, if the young man were again left upon his hands. Accordingly, the guardian’s consent was obtained; a travelling carriage was bought, and fitted up with every imaginable imperial and _malle_. A Swiss (half valet and half courier) was engaged, one thousand a year was allowed to Maltravers;--and one soft and lovely morning, towards the close of October, Ferrers and Maltravers found themselves midway on the road to Dover. “How glad I am to get out of England,” said Ferrers: “it is a famous country for the rich; but here, eight hundred a year, without a profession, save that of pleasure, goes upon pepper and salt; it is a luxurious competence abroad.” “I think I have heard Cleveland say that you will be rich some day or other.” “O yes: I have what are called expectations! You must know that I have a kind of settlement on two stools, the Well-born and the Wealthy; but between two stools--you recollect the proverb! The present Lord Saxingham, once plain Frank Lascelles, and my father, Mr. Ferrers, were first cousins. Two or three relations good-naturedly died, and Frank Lascelles became an earl; the lands did not go with the coronet; he was poor, and married an heiress. The lady died; her estate was settled on her only child, the handsomest little girl you ever saw. Pretty Florence, I often wish I could look up to you! Her fortune will be nearly all at her own disposal, too, when she comes of age; now she is in the nursery, ‘eating bread and honey.’ My father, less lucky and less wise than his cousin, thought fit to marry a Miss Templeton--a nobody. The Saxingham branch of the family politely dropped the acquaintance. Now, my mother had a brother, a clever, plodding fellow, in what is called ‘business:’ he became richer and richer: but my father and mother died, and were never the better for it. And I came of age, and _worth_ (I like that expression) not a farthing more or less than this often-quoted eight hundred pounds a year. My rich uncle is married, but has no children. I am, therefore, heir-presumptive,--but he is a saint, and close, though ostentatious. The quarrel between Uncle Templeton and the Saxinghams still continues. Templeton is angry if I see the Saxinghams and the Saxinghams--my Lord, at least--is by no means so sure that I shall be Templeton’s heir as not to feel a doubt lest I should some day or other sponge upon his lordship for a place. Lord Saxingham is in the administration, you know. Somehow or other I have an equivocal amphibious kind of place in London society, which I don’t like; on one side I am a patrician connection, whom the _parvenu_ branches always incline lovingly to--and on the other side I am a half-dependent cadet, whom the noble relations look civilly shy at. Some day, when I grow tired of travel and idleness, I shall come back and wrestle with these