John looked from one to the other of these worthies with astonished disapproval. Indeed, from the first, both gentlemen had impressed him unfavourably. Their voices were loud, their laughter excessive: Lord Tuftington interlarded his conversations with strange expletives, while Sir Harry helped himself perpetually from the beer-jug. He was surprised to observe on nearer view that the latter’s dress was at once tawdry and slovenly; his gold lace was tarnished, his ruffles soiled; as he held the jug aloft on one occasion, John actually detected a rent in his fine peach-coloured coat. After a pause, broken only by the lamentations of the elder ladies, Lucy turned hesitatingly to her host— “Do you not think, sir,” she said pathetically, “that it is cruel to leave the poor horses standing in the road all night?” “Ma’am,” cried John, starting up, “with your leave I will at once go and see after them.” “And bring my valise, good sir,” besought Lady Olivia—“the smallest valise in the boot.” “Pray, Mr Cotley, try to bring all our property—all at least that is portable.” “Certainly, ladies,” returned John, “I shall be happy to carry some of the baggage myself, and to direct your servant to bring the remainder hither.” “I am obliged to you, sir,” replied the Duchess, with a somewhat embarrassed air, “but you must know that with the exception of the postboy we are unattended at present.” “’Tis a pity, indeed, my dear,” put in Lady Olivia, “that we should have left all our servants behind.” “But, ladies, remember,” put in Sir Harry, with half-tipsy gravity, “that we are travelling incog.” “Perhaps the postboy may help me,” said John. When he reached the scene of the catastrophe, however, he found the fellow so hopelessly intoxicated, that it was clear no help was to be expected from him, and he was forced to seek assistance from some of his own work-people who lived in a little hamlet about a mile from his house. It was more than an hour, therefore, before he returned home, himself leading the horses, while a couple of stout lads staggered in his wake laden with the ladies’ luggage, the post-boy having by his directions been lifted inside the empty vehicle, which had been drawn up under the hedge for the night. He found the parlour empty, save for Sir Harry, who lay stretched half across the table, while upstairs all was merry bustle. Old Molly was distractedly hastening from one room to another with her warming-pan, while Lord Tuftington stalked behind her, laden with warm blankets and piles of lavender scented sheets. The ladies had volunteered to make the beds, and with much chatter and laughter the work proceeded. They often changed their minds with regard to the apartment which each intended to occupy, and the trunks were in consequence dragged from room to room; some half unpacked disgorging their finery in the passage—in fact such a scene of confusion had never before been witnessed within the quiet walls of Cotley Grange.