She had lately come to Lynderton, and knew very little of the politics of the place, but having received the Misses Sleech's card and an invitation to Stanmore, which she knew to be the principal house in the neighbourhood, her ladyship had accepted the invitation. It is possible that she might have been surprised at the appearance of Mr. Sleech and his family, but was certainly too well-bred to exhibit her opinion. She passed on with her daughters, hoping to take up a retired position, where she could observe what was going on without herself attracting attention. Mr. Sleech, however, was far too delighted at the honour done him to allow her to carry out her intention, and every instant he was coming up and making one of his flourishing bows, either with offers of refreshment, or with a request of being allowed the honour of introducing most eligible partners to Lady Mary and Lady Grace. They, however, from the first, declined dancing, after which, even had they desired it, they could not, without offending those who had first offered, have accepted other partners. Mr. Sleech was on his way, for about the twentieth time, to the countess, when his eldest daughter came up to him, and, in a hurried voice, said that a person wished to see him on important business. "Tell him to come in, then; I cannot come out to see him. If he has got any message to deliver he must deliver it here," answered Mr. Sleech, scarcely knowing what he was saying. His daughter hurried off. Soon afterwards a man was seen in a horseman's suit passing among the gaily-dressed throng towards the master of the house. "Who do you come from?" asked Mr. Sleech, eyeing him narrowly. "From Mr. Coppinger," answered the messenger. "It is about a matter of importance, and he told me to see you immediately." "What is it? Is it about my son?" asked Mr. Sleech, in a nervous voice. "I believe so; but that will tell you," said the man, delivering the letter he held in his hand. Mr. Sleech, in his eagerness, tore it open, forgetting at the moment by whom he was surrounded. His eyes ran rapidly over the paper. With unrepressed anger he broke silence, exclaiming-- "My son accused of forgery! It is a lie. Mr. Coppinger is a base liar; I will bring an action against him for defamation of character." The Misses Coppinger, unfortunately, were standing near at the time, and were very naturally indignant at hearing their father thus spoken of. "The letter says true enough, I have no doubt," observed Mr. Gilby, who had been dancing with one of the young ladies. "If the son he speaks of is Silas Sleech, a more arrant rogue does not exist. I am very certain that he led that young Harry Tryon purposely into all sorts of scrapes, and drove him off at last to sea. Poor fellow! I don't think I told you what I know about him."