They obeyed, and walked along in silence, till they reached the inn, where Dalton entered, with a certain assumed ease and confidence, that very commonly, with him, covered a weak purpose and a doubting spirit. “Is Sir Stafford at home, or Lady Onslow?” asked he of Mr. Twig, who, with a cigar in his mouth, and a “Galignani” in his hand, never rose from the seat he occupied. “Can't say, sir,” was the cool response, which he delivered without lifting his eyes from the newspaper. “Do you know, ma'am?” said he, addressing Mademoiselle Celestine, who happened to pass at the moment “do you know, ma'am, if Lady Onslow 's at home?” “She never receive in de morning,” was the curt reply. And, with a very impudent stare at the two sisters, whose dress imposed no restraint upon her insolence, mademoiselle flounced past. “Come along, girls,” said Dalton, angrily, and offended that he should appear to his children as if wanting in worldly tact and knowledge “come with me;” and he proceeded boldly up stairs. A folding-door lay open before them into a large chamber, littered with boxes, trunks, and travelling gear of all kinds. Making his way through these, while he left his daughters outside, Dalton approached a door that led into an inner room, and knocked sharply at it with his knuckles. “You may take it away now; I 've used cold water!” cried a voice from within, that at once proclaimed Dr. Grounsell. Dalton repeated his summons more confidently. “Go to the devil, I say,” cried the doctor; “you've made me cut my chin;” and the enraged Grouusell, with his face covered with lather, and streaming with blood, flung open the door in a passion. “Oh, Dalton, this you, and the ladies here!” said he, springing back ashamed, as Kate's hearty burst of laughter greeted him. “Come in, Dalton, come in,” said he, dragging the father forward and shutting the door upon him. “I was longing to see you, man; I was just thinking how I could have five minutes' talk with you. What answer have you given to the letter they 've sent you?” “What d' ye think?” said Dalton, jocularly, as he seated himself in a comfortable chair. “What do I think?” repeated he, twice or thrice over. “Egad, I don't know what to think! I only know what to hope, and wish it may have been!” “And what's that?” said Dalton, with a look of almost sternness, for he was not ignorant of the doctor's sentiments on the subject. “A refusal, of course,” said Grounsell, who never yet was deterred by a look, a sign, or an innuendo, from any expression of his sentiments. “And why so, sir?” rejoined Dalton, warmly.