“Dear, dear!” said Miss Dunstable, as sparks of knowledge came flying in upon her mind. “I always thought that a soap-bubble was a soap-bubble, and I never asked the reason why. One doesn’t, you know, my lord.” “Pardon me, Miss Dunstable,” said the old lord, “one does; but nine hundred and ninety-nine do not.” “And the nine hundred and ninety-nine have the best of it,” said Miss Dunstable. “What pleasure can one have in a ghost after one has seen the phosphorus rubbed on?” “Quite true, my dear lady. ‘If ignorance be bliss, ’tis folly to be wise.’ It all lies in the ‘if.’” Then Miss Dunstable began to sing:— “‘What tho’ I trace each herb and flower That sips the morning dew—’ —you know the rest, my lord.” Lord Boanerges did know almost everything, but he did not know that; and so Miss Dunstable went on:— “‘Did I not own Jehovah’s power How vain were all I knew.’” “Exactly, exactly, Miss Dunstable,” said his lordship; “but why not own the power and trace the flower as well? perhaps one might help the other.” Upon the whole I am afraid that Lord Boanerges got the best of it. But then that is his line. He has been getting the best of it all his life. It was observed by all that the duke was especially attentive to young Mr. Frank Gresham, the gentleman on whom and on whose wife Miss Dunstable had seized so vehemently. This Mr. Gresham was the richest commoner in the county, and it was rumoured that at the next election he would be one of the members for the East Riding. Now the duke had little or nothing to do with the East Riding, and it was well known that young Gresham would be brought forward as a strong conservative. But, nevertheless, his acres were so extensive and his money so plentiful that he was worth a duke’s notice. Mr. Sowerby also was almost more than civil to him, as was natural, seeing that this very young man by a mere scratch of his pen could turn a scrap of paper into a bank-note of almost fabulous value. “So you have the East Barsetshire hounds at Boxall Hill; have you not?” said the duke. “The hounds are there,” said Frank. “But I am not the master.” “Oh! I understood—” “My father has them. But he finds Boxall Hill more centrical than Greshamsbury. The dogs and horses have to go shorter distances.” “Boxall Hill is very centrical.” “Oh, exactly!” “And your young gorse coverts are doing well?” “Pretty well—gorse won’t thrive everywhere, I find. I wish it would.” “That’s just what I say to Fothergill; and then where there’s much woodland you can’t get the vermin to leave it.” “But we haven’t a tree at Boxall Hill,” said Mrs. Gresham. “Ah, yes; you’re new there, certainly; you’ve enough of it at Greshamsbury in all conscience. There’s a larger extent of wood there than we have; isn’t there, Fothergill?” Mr. Fothergill said that the Greshamsbury woods were very extensive, but that, perhaps, he thought—