From the correspondence thus winnowed, Mr. Egerton first selected those on business, which he put methodically together in one division of his pocket-book; and secondly, those of a private nature, which he as carefully put into another. Of these last there were but three--one from his steward, one from Harley L'Estrange, one from Randal Leslie. It was his custom to answer his correspondence at his office; and to his office, a few minutes afterward, he slowly took his way. Many a passenger turned back to look again at the firm figure, which, despite the hot summer day, was buttoned up to the throat; and the black frock-coat thus worn, well became the erect air, and the deep full chest of the handsome senator. When he entered Parliament Street, Audley Egerton was joined by one of his colleagues, also on his way to the cares of office. After a few observations on the last debate, this gentleman said-- "By the way, can you dine with me next Saturday, to meet Lansmere? He comes up to town to vote for us on Monday." "I had asked some people to dine with me," answered Egerton, "but I will put them off. I see Lord Lansmere too seldom, to miss any occasion to meet a man whom I respect so much." "So seldom! True, he is very little in town; but why don't you go and see him in the country? Good shooting--pleasant old-fashioned house." "My dear Westbourne, his house is '_nimium vicina Cremonæ_,' close to a borough in which I have been burned in effigy." "Ha--ha--yes--I remember you first came into Parliament for that snug little place; but Lansmere himself never found fault with your votes, did he?" "He behaved very handsomely, and said he had not presumed to consider me his mouthpiece; and then, too, I am so intimate with L'Estrange." "Is that queer fellow ever coming back to England?" "He comes, generally every year, for a few days, just to see his father and mother, and then goes back to the Continent." "I never meet him." "He comes in September or October, when you, of course, are not in town, and it is in town that the Lansmeres meet him." "Why does he not go to them?" "A man in England but once a year, and for a few days, has so much to do in London, I suppose." "Is he as amusing as ever?" Egerton nodded. "So distinguished as he might be!" continued Lord Westbourne. "So distinguished as he is!" said Egerton formally; "an officer selected for praise, even in such fields as Quatre Bras and Waterloo; a scholar, too, of the finest taste; and as an accomplished gentleman, matchless!" "I like to hear one man praise another so warmly in these ill-natured days," answered Lord Westbourne. "But still, though L'Estrange is doubtless all you say, don't you think he rather wastes his life--living abroad?" "And trying to be happy, Westbourne? Are you sure it is not we who waste our lives? But I can't stay to hear your answer. Here we are at the door of my prison." "On Saturday, then?" "On Saturday. Good day."