"I don't see that there is anything more to be done for her. I trust to her growing out of these tempers in time," said Mrs Eyrecourt, philosophically--she was always philosophical about Floss when not in her immediate presence. "Speaking of the Montmorris boys, Roma, reminds me we are dining there to-day. That is to say--I accepted for myself certainly, and for you conditionally, the day before yesterday. You are not too tired to go?" "Oh, no. I daresay I shall feel brisker by the evening," replied Roma. "I suppose it isn't anything very overwhelming, is it? for my wardrobe is getting rather dilapidated--I didn't think I should have been so long without going home, you know. By-the-bye, Gertrude, are you not in deeper mourning than when I went away?" "Yes, I forgot to tell you. Indeed, I hardly thought you would care to hear--the poor old man had been virtually dead for so long. It is for our old uncle--Beauchamp's and my uncle I mean--Mr Chancellor of Halswood. He died a fortnight ago. It was hardly necessary to go into mourning; he was only my father's uncle. But still he was the head of the family, and I thought it better." "Who succeeds him?" asked Roma. "Halswood is a nice place, isn't it?" "Very; but they have never kept it up properly," said Mrs Eyrecourt. "At least, not for many years past. Old Uncle Chancellor has been half in his dotage for ever so long, but still he had sense enough to be jealous of his grandsons. There are two of them; the elder of course succeeds. He has sons; he has been married some years. We know very little of them now. My great uncle was angry with my father for selling Winsedge to your people, Roma; for though it was not entailed, and had come into the hands of a younger son, it had been a long, long time in the family. And that made a coolness they never got over." "Why did your father sell it?" inquired Roma. "It would have been very nice for you now if it had belonged to Beauchamp. Much nicer than for it to be Quin's, who has got plenty already." "Yes," replied Gertrude, slowly; "it would have been very nice, but it could not have been. My father was dreadfully in debt, and even selling Winsedge didn't clear him. When he died it was all my poor mother could do to start Beauchamp in the army. Poor Beauchamp! it has been very hard upon him to be so restricted, with his tastes, and his looks, and his feelings altogether. He has never been extravagant, as young men go, but he hates poverty." Roma laughed. "I don't think he knows much about it, so far," she said. "Wait till he is married with very little more than he has now--two or three hundred a year and his pay. It wouldn't be long before love came flying out of _his_ window. But, dear me," starting up as a timepiece struck the hour, "how late it is! I must write to tell Mary Dalrymple of my safe arrival. What time is the Montmorris's dinner hour? Seven; oh, I am glad of that; we shall get home early."