“I declare, I see no occasion for smartness or epigram. I 'd simply say, 'I have only just heard that you are in our neighborhood, and I beg to convey my father's hope and request that you will not leave it without giving us the honor of your company here.' You can throw in as many of your personal sentiments as may serve, like wool in a packing-case, to keep the whole tight and compact; but I think something like that would suffice.” “Perhaps so,” said he, musingly, as he once more returned to his room. When he reappeared, after some minutes, it was with the air and look of a man who had just thrown off some weighty burden. “Thank Heaven, it's done and despatched!” said he. “I have been looking over the F. O. Guide, to see whether I addressed him aright. I fancied he was a Privy Councillor, and I find he is not; he is a K.C.B., however, and a Guelph, with leave to wear the star.” “Very gratifying to us,--I mean if he should come here,” said she, with a mocking smile. “Don't pretend you do not value all these things fully as much as myself, Marion. You know well what the world thinks of them. These distinctions were no more made by us than the money of the realm; but we use one of them like the other, well aware that it represents a certain value, and is never disputed.” “How old is your friend?” “Well, he is certainly not young. Here's what F. O. contributes to his biography. 'Entered the army as cornet in the 2nd Life Guards, 1816.' A precious long time ago that. 'First groom of the bedchamber--promoted--placed on half-pay--entered diplomatic service--in --19; special mission to Hanover--made K.C.B.--contested Essex, and returned on a petition--went back to diplomacy, and named special envoy to Teheran.' Ah! now we are coming to his real career.” “Oh, dear! I 'd rather hear about him somewhat earlier,” said she, taking the book out of his hand, and throwing it on the table. “It is a great penalty to pay for greatness to be gibbeted in this fashion. Don't you think so, Temple?” “I wish I could see myself gibbeted, as you call it.” “If the will makes the way, we ought to be very great people,” said she, with a smile, half derisive, half real. “Jack, perhaps not; nor Ellen. They have booked themselves in second-class carriages.” “I'll go and look up Harding; he is a secret sort of a fellow. I believe all agents assume that manner to every one but the head of the house and the heir. But perhaps I could manage to find out why these people have not called upon us; there must be something in it.” “I protest I think we ought to feel grateful to them; an exchange of hospitalities with them would be awful.” “Very likely; but I think we ought to have had the choice, and this they have not given us.” “And even for that I am grateful,” said she, as with a haughty look she rose and left the room. CHAPTER VI. UP IN THE MOUNTAINS.