"Not a word. He is a very hot-headed young man; he inherits the Bevan temper, the Bevan temper," reiterated James Hancock in a reflective tone, tapping his snuff-box and taking a leisurely pinch. "I remember his father John Bevan at Ipswich, during the election, threatening to horsewhip my father; then when he found he was in the wrong, or rather that his own rascally solicitor was in the wrong, he apologised very handsomely and came to us. The family affairs have been in our hands ever since, as you know, and, though I say it myself, they could not have been in better." "May I ask, Mr James, how affairs are with the Lamberts?--a sweetly pretty young lady is Miss Lambert, and so nice spoken." "The Lamberts' affairs seem very much involved; but you know, Bridgewater, I have nothing to do with their affairs. I called to see Mr Lambert purely as a friend. It would be very unprofessional to call otherwise. D----n it!" suddenly broke out old Hancock, as if some one had pricked him with a pin, "a man is not always a business man. I'm getting on in life. I have money enough and to spare. I've done pretty much as I liked all my life, and I'll do so to the end; yes, and I'd break all the laws of professional etiquette one after the other to-morrow if I chose." Bridgewater's amazed face was the only amazed part of his anatomy; he was used to these occasional petulant outbursts, and he looked on them with equanimity. Hancock had been threatening to retire from business for the last ten years, to retire from business and buy a country place and breed horses. No one knew so well as Bridgewater the impossibility of this and the extent to which his master was bound up in his business--the business was his life. He retired, mumbling something that sounded like an assent, and going to his desk put the letters in order. Mr Hancock, left to himself, took a letter from his breast-pocket. It was addressed in a large careless hand to "JAMES HANCOCK, ESQ. GORDON SQUARE. It ran:-- "DEAR MR HANCOCK,--I'll be delighted to come to-morrow; I haven't seen the Zoo for years, not since I was quite small. No, don't trouble to come and fetch me, I will call at the office at half-past ten or quarter to eleven, that will be simpler.--Yours very sincerely, "FANNY LAMBERT." "I'll be hanged if it's simpler," grumbled James Hancock, as he returned the letter to his pocket. "Why in the name of all that's sacred couldn't she have let me call?--the clerks will talk so. No matter, let them--I don't care." "Miss Lambert," said Bridgewater, opening the door. Mr Hancock might have thought that Spring herself stood before him in the open doorway, such a pleasing and perfect vision did Miss Lambert make. She was attired in a chip hat, and a dress of something light in texture and lilac in colour, and, from the vivacity of her manner and the general sprightliness of her appearance, seemed bent upon a day of pleasure.