The General was a little disappointed with his guests, when, on the retirement of the ladies, a magnum of undeniable claret exhaled its aroma for their immediate benefit, and he found it did not by any means disappear with that military rapidity to which he was accustomed in his younger days. Charlie’s cough was a sufficient excuse for his abstemiousness; and Frank Hardingstone, though he could drink a bucketful on occasion, would not open his lips on compulsion; so the General found himself in consequence obliged to grapple with the giant almost single-handed. This, to do him justice, he undertook with considerable _gusto_, and by the time he had got to the bottom of his measure, had arrived at that buoyant state in which gentlemen are more prone to broach such matters of business as they may think it expedient to undertake, than to explain clearly the method by which their desired ends can most readily be attained. Accordingly, when Frank and Charlie rose to join the ladies in the drawing-room, our old soldier called the latter back to the fire-place, and filling himself a large bumper of sherry as an orthodox conclusion to the whole, bid his nephew sit down again for five minutes, and have a little quiet conversation on a subject which should not be too long postponed. “Just three words, Charlie,” said the General, sipping his sherry; “won’t you have a whitewash, my boy? Three hundred and sixty-five more glasses in the year, you know. You won’t? Well, Charlie, I’m right glad to see you back again. To-morrow I must go over everything with you as regards money matters. Frank has told you all about the will. What? Zounds! it was very singular--I confess I expected it all along.” The General was one of those truest of prophets whose predictions are reserved until the fulfilment of events. Finding that Charlie took this extraordinary instance of foresight very coolly, he proceeded, as he thought, to beat about the bush in a most skilful manner. “Well, Charlie, and how d’ye think we’re all looking, eh? Wear well and struggle on, don’t we? I’ve taken pretty good care of your cousin for you, my boy, during your absence. How d’ye think she’s looking, eh?” Charlie, who had not thought about it at all, answered, “Very well.” And the General filled himself another glass of sherry and went on--“By Jove, Charlie, I congratulate you on _that_, eh? Shake hands, my lad. Zounds! we’ll drink Blanche’s health. Now I’ve put everything _en train_. We can have the lawyers down at a moment’s notice. Blanche’s _things_, to be sure, will have to be got; women can’t do without such a quantity of clothes. Why, when Rummagee Bang’s widow was burnt--however, that’s neither here nor there. Now tell me, Charlie, when do you think it ought to come off?” “My dear uncle, I can’t think what you’re talking about,” replied Charlie, trying to look as if he didn’t understand; “I don’t see what I’ve got to do with Blanche’s things.”