"I think you are excessively rude and disagreeable," I say, much affronted, and getting up, move with dignity towards the door. "If you see Ashurst tell him I want him," calls out Marmaduke as I reach it. "Yes; and at the same time I shall tell him you said he was a dunce at college," I return, in a withering tone. Marmaduke laughs, and, dropping the precious gun, runs after me, catches and draws me back into his _sanctum_. "I think Dora and Ashurst two of the most intellectual people it has ever been my good fortune to meet," he says, still laughing, and holding me. "Will that do? Is your majesty appeased?" "I wouldn't tell fibs, if I were you," return I, severely. "Say lies. I hate the word 'fib.' A lie sounds much more honest. But I am really in earnest when I say I think Dora clever. I know at least twenty girls who have done their best to be made Lady Ashurst, and not one of them ever came as near success as she has." "But he has not proposed to her yet." "It is the same thing. Any one can see that he has Dora on the brain, and I don't think (asking your pardon humbly) his brain would stand much pressure. I'd lay any amount she has him at her feet before his visit is concluded." "How delightful! How pleased mamma will be! Marmaduke, I forgive you. But you must not say slighting things of me again. "Slighting things of _you_, my own darling! Cannot you see when I am in fun? I only wanted to make you pout and look like the baby you are. In reality I think you the brightest, dearest, sweetest, _et cetera_." Thus my mind is relieved, and I feel I can wait with calmness the desirable end that is evidently in store for Dora. I am so elated by Marmaduke's concurrence with my hopes that I actually kiss him, and, re-seating myself, consent to take the butt-end of the gun upon my lap and hold it carefully, while he rubs the barrels up and down with a dreadfully dirty piece of scarlet flannel soaked in oil. When, however, this monotonous process has been continued for ten minutes or so, and I find I cannot flatter myself with the belief that it will soon be over, I lose sight of the virtue called patience. "Do you think they would ever grow brighter than they are now?" I venture mildly. "If you rubbed them for years, Marmaduke, I don't believe they could be further improved: do you?" "Well, indeed, perhaps you are right. I think they will do now," replies he, regarding his new toy with a fond eye; and then almost with regret, as though loath to part with it, he replaces it in its flannel berth. "Bye the bye, Phyllis, I had a letter from a friend of mine this morning--Chandos--telling me of his return to England, and I have written inviting him here." "Have you? I hope he is nice. Is he Mr. or Captain Chandos, or what?" "Neither: he is Lord Chandos." "What!" cry I; "the real live lord at last! _Now_, I suppose, we will have to be very seemly in our conduct, and forget we ever laughed. Is he very old and staid, 'Duke?"