“I won't interrupt the consultation,” said Sewell, “but I have just one word to say.” He leaned over the back of the sofa, and whispered in her ear, “Your friend Trafford is become an eldest son. He is at the Bilton Hotel, Dublin; write and ask him here. Say I have some cock-shooting,--there are harriers in the neighborhood. Are you listening to me, Madam?” said he, in a harsh hissing voice, for she had half turned away her head, and her face had assumed an expression of sickened disgust. She nodded, but did not speak. “Tell him that I've spoken to Cave--he'll make his leave all right--that I 'll do my best to make the place pleasant to him, and that--in fact, I needn't toy to teach you to write a sweet note. You understand me, eh?” “Oh, perfectly,” said she, rising; and a livid paleness now spread over her face, and even her lips were bloodless. “I was too abrupt with my news. I ought to have been more considerate; I ought to have known it might overcome you,” said he, with a sneering bitterness. “Doctor, you 'll have to give Mrs. Se well some cordial, some restorative,--that's the name for it. She was overcome by some tidings I brought her. Even pleasant news will startle us occasionally. As the French comedy has it, _La joie fait peur_;” and with a listless, easy air, he sauntered away into another room. CHAPTER XXIX. SEWELL VISITS CAVE Punctual to his appointment, Sewell appeared at breakfast the next morning with Colonel Cave. Of all the ill-humor and bad conduct of the night before, not a trace now was to be seen. He was easy, courteous, and affable. He even made a half-jesting apology for his late display of bad temper; attributing it to an attack of coming gout. “So long as the malady,” said he, “is in a state of menace, one's nerves become so fine-strung that there is no name for the irritability; but when once a good honest seizure has taken place, a man recovers himself, and stands up to his suffering manfully and well. “To-day, for instance,” said he, pointing to a shoe divided by long incisions, “I have got my enemy fixed, and I let him do his worst.” The breakfast proceeded pleasantly; Cave was in admiration of his guest's agreeability; for he talked away, not so much of things as of people. He had in a high degree that-man-of-the-world gift of knowing something about every one. No name could turn up of which he could not tell you something the owner of it had said or done, and these “scratch” biographies are often very amusing, particularly when struck off with the readiness of a practised talker.