be much increased and strengthened by the approaching triumph (for such all visible tokens announced it to be) of the already vain-glorious Lady Millicent. That triumph--for such news ever travels quickly--began speedily to be noised abroad, to the annoyance of Arthur, whose creditors grew once more on the alert, and to the extreme displeasure of Mr. Duberly, whose usually placid temper would, but for his ever-increasing delight in his new toy, _i.e._ his grandson, have betrayed outward signs of discomposure and annoyance. “I guessed how it would be, boy, all along,” he said to Arthur, on the third morning after the one which had first thrown light upon the baby’s tiny face; “I knew how it would be. Milady would never rest, not she, till she made her father out to be _non compos_, or some such devilment. Well, I thank my stars that we old-fashioned folks that you grandees call snobs, would be long enough before they tried-on such a thing as that comes to;” and the old man, so saying, looked as savage as it was possible for a round-faced, kindly, elderly gentleman, who was in reality brimming over with the milk of human kindness, to do. A little to his surprise, and also, if the truth must be owned, to his disappointment, Arthur appeared not nearly so interested in this all-important matter as might have been reasonably expected. Neither while his father-in-law was giving utterance to the above very decided opinion, nor when the old gentleman, laying down the fork on which he had fixed a tempting morsel of toasted breakfast-bacon, clearly awaited a reply, did Arthur think proper to evince any tokens of a congenial spirit. The fact was (and surely the cause will be considered a sufficient one) he had that moment received the second and promised note from Honor, informing him of her address, and asking him very humbly, and with none of the old playfulness and evident sense of something like equality between them which had characterised her former proceedings, whether he could in any way assist her to gain her livelihood. “For I feel very forlorn and helpless,” the poor girl wrote, “and almost think that I had better have borne with Mrs. Beacham’s temper. But it is too late now; and if you can in any way help me, I shall be very, very grateful for your aid.” It was with this short missive, touching in its tone of lowliness and impuissance, safe in his waistcoat-pocket, that Arthur, with an absent and preoccupied air, listened to the old man’s words. That the sound of them, however, lingered in his ear, and in some sort made their way through it to his understanding, was evidenced by his saying in answer to Mr. Duberly’s lengthened stare of surprise: