“Now, Mr. Barrister,” said the occupier of the cottage, “what time would you like to dine? You have villainous late hours in London, I know. Some of the great folks there don’t dine till to-morrow morning. If I should ever sport a house in town, and give dinners, I think I shall send out my cards inviting my company to dinner on Tuesday next, at one o’clock on Wednesday morning. Will five o’clock be too soon for you, Mr.?” “Not at all, sir.” So the business was settled; and then Mr. Martindale proposed a walk into the town to call upon the clergyman, whom he designated by the not much admired name of parson. “Good morning to you, Mr. Denver; will you condescend to dine at the cottage at five o’clock to-day? In the mean time, let me introduce to you my friend Mr. Markham, a barrister; who has distinguished himself by obtaining a very proper verdict against my hopeful young cousin, the Hon. Philip Martindale.” Mr. Denver accepted the invitation, politely bowed to Mr. Markham, and expressed great sorrow at the event which was alluded to by Mr. Martindale. “He is a wild youth, Mr. Parson; why don’t you preach to him, and make him better?” replied Mr. Martindale.--“If I were a parson, I would take much better care of my parishioners than nine out of ten of you black-coated gentry. You are afraid of offending great folks. Now, you would not dare to go up to the Abbey this morning, and tell my honourable cousin that he ought to be ashamed of himself.--Eh! what say you, Mr.? Will you take my arm, and walk up to the great house, and set about rebuking the wicked one?” Mr. Denver gently smiled, and said: “I fear, sir, that we should not find Mr. Philip at home this morning.” “Not find him at home!” exclaimed Mr. Martindale; “why not? Where is he gone?” “He left Brigland early this morning in a post-chaise; and the lad who drove him the first stage saw him take another chaise, and proceed towards London.” “What! go to London at this time of year!--Let me know nothing about it!--What is he gone for?” “I cannot conjecture,” replied the reverend divine, “what can be Mr. Philip’s motive for visiting the metropolis at this unusual season.” “Conjecture!” said Mr. Martindale; “no, I suppose not. But it is so very odd that he should go in such a violent hurry, and not say a word to me on the subject.”