There was one tremendous scene of powerful domestic interest, and they all gave warning, and departed “_en masse_.” After this catastrophe, the keys were made over to Betty, who established a new régime--and a great calm. Belle was unspeakably miserable; she had nothing to do; no congenial society; nowhere to display her gay new hats. Far be it from _her_, to run after beagles, to gather blackberries, or to visit stupid, narrow-minded old ladies. She spent as much time from home as possible, and, when at Noone, lay novel-reading in bed, or prowled restlessly from room to room, from window to window, and filled in the weary hours by combing her poodle, writing long letters, and reorganising her wardrobe. Sometimes, in fine weather, she dressed herself carefully, arrayed “Mossoo” in a pink ribbon, and strolled along a road that led to an--alas!--distant garrison town, on the meagre chance of meeting an officer who might drift thus far to shoot or fish. If she encountered one or two in a sporting dog-cart, and if they had stared very hard at the pretty, smartly dressed girl, and her well-trimmed companion, Belle’s mission was accomplished; she was happy for _that_ day. * * * * * The morning after George Holroyd’s arrival, Mrs. Malone had a tearful and pathetic conversation with her son; and, as she sauntered, arm in arm with him, round the wintry garden, she opened her mouth to such an extent, that he was compelled to make his head-quarters at Bridgetstown. There would be no spare cash for clever hunters, a trip abroad, or even a little mixed shooting. Surely Belle Redmond’s star was in the ascendant. CHAPTER V. FOXY JOE. “I know a trick worth two of that.” --HENRY IV. “Joey, Joey, Foxy Joe, I say, hold hard.”