“It's not at all unlikely that his mother may have arranged to meet him in Wales,” said Sir Brook. “She is a fussy, meddlesome woman, who likes to be, or to think herself, the prime mover in everything. I remember when Hugh Trafford--a young fellow at that time--was offered a Junior Lordship of the Treasury, it was she who called on the Premier, Lord Dornington, to explain why he could not accept office. Nothing but great abilities or great vices enable a man to rise above the crushing qualities of such a wife. Trafford had neither, and the world has always voted him a nonentity.” “There, Lucy,” said Lendrick, laughing,--“there at least is one danger you must avoid in married life.” “Lucy needs no teachings of mine,” said Sir Brook. “Her own instincts are worth all my experiences twice told. But who is this coming up to the door?” “Oh, that is Mr. Haire, a dear friend of grandpapa's.” And Lucy ran to meet him, returning soon after to the room, leaning on his arm. Lendrick and Haire were very old friends, and esteemed each other sincerely; and though on the one occasion on which Sir Brook and Haire had met, Fossbrooke had been the object of the Chief's violence and passion, his dignity and good temper had raised him highly in Haire's estimation, and made him glad to meet him again. “You are half surprised to see me under this roof, sir,” said Sir Brook, referring to their former meeting; “but there are feelings with me stronger than resentments.” “And when my poor father knows how much he is indebted to your generous kindness,” broke in Lendrick, “he will be the first to ask your forgiveness.” “That he will. Of all the men I ever met, he is the readiest to redress a wrong he has done,” cried Haire, warmly. “If the world only knew him as I know him! But his whole life long he has been trying to make himself appear stern and cold-hearted and pitiless, with, all the while, a nature overflowing with kindness.” “The man who has attached to himself such a friendship as yours,” said Fossbrooke, warmly, “cannot but have good qualities.” “_My friendship!_” said Haire, blushing deeply; “what a poor tribute to such a man as he is! Do you know, sir,” and here he lowered his voice till it became a confidential whisper,--“do you know, sir, that since the great days of the country,--since the time of Burke, we have had nothing to compare with the Chief Baron. Plunkett used to wish he had his law, and Bushe envied his scholarship, and Lysaght often declared that a collection of Lendrick's epigrams and witty sayings would be the pleasantest reading of the day. And such is our public press, that it is for the quality in which he was least eminent they are readiest to praise him. You would n't believe it, sir. They call him a 'master of sarcastic eloquence.' Why, sir, there was a tenderness in him that would not have let him descend to sarcasm. He could rebuke, censure, condemn if you will; but his large heart had not room for a sneer.”