“Now pray, madam,” said Mr. Martindale, in a very loud voice, “how have you been amusing yourself this morning? I suppose you would have stayed within all the morning studying architecture, if I had not mercifully driven you out to breathe a little wholesome air. You have not such fine air at Hollywick as we have on the heath. You have been walking that way I presume.” Lady Woodstock gently replied: “Sir Andrew Featherstone was so polite as to accompany me and one of my daughters in a ramble on the heath.” “Sir Andrew was very polite, indeed,” replied Mr. Martindale; “and I have no doubt you had a most delightful walk. Sir Andrew made himself very agreeable, I hope; he is a witty man. But how is it, my good lady, that you look so unusually grave? Have you been laughing so heartily at Sir Andrew’s wit, that you have no more smiles left for us?” Her ladyship then explained, and said that she really did feel rather more serious than usual. She then related what she had seen and heard that morning. Mr. Martindale listened with great attention to her narration, and as soon as it was concluded, he abruptly turned round and addressing himself to his relative exclaimed: “Philip, do you hear that? The poor old man who brought the action against you the other day is dead and buried. Lady Woodstock has been at his funeral this morning; and I think you should have been there too, if you had a spark of grace about you, young man.” “You astonish me, sir,” replied Philip; “I had not heard that the poor man was ill.” “Ay, but you ought to have known it. Did not you tell me the other day that he was so terrified at the gipsey breaking into his dwelling and threatening his life, that he was quite speechless. You ought to have made inquiries about him. If the poor man did bring an action against you, you ought not to bear malice.”