‘I think the man should have been hanged,’ he said between the puffs of his cigar, ‘that invented penny stamps. I don’t mean Sir Rowland Hill. It was another man--poor beggar, I forget even his name--who had the idea, and the man in office got all the glory and all the reward--_tulit alter honores_. As for Hill, he got a fortune and various ugly statues for an evil deed he never committed. Well, if these things are all to be set right one day, there’s a good deal of clearing up to be done--that’s all. What’s this? A card for Lady Baldwin’s garden-party--“thought it possible you might be home in time; hope to have the pleasure of your company”--ah! What one misses by going abroad!’ ‘Yes, indeed,’ said the old gentleman; ‘and I hope you won’t leave this country again, so long as I live. It may not be very long.’ ‘Then I should stay at home permanently,’ returned Hubert, knowing well enough that none like better to be assured of a long life than they who are fond of referring to their approaching end. ‘Another invitation, and another--a bill, a circular, another circular. Some people grumble at getting circulars; I like them. It’s so pleasant to open a letter you expect to have to answer, and find that you may drop it at once into the basket with a clear conscience.’ ‘You don’t encourage me to write to you often,’ said Sophy, with a little laugh. ‘But he doesn’t mean you, my dear,’ said the invalid. ‘Mean Sophy? Oh yes, particularly,’ said Hubert half absently, looking up from a letter he was reading. Sophy knew, of course, that he was speaking ironically; but somehow she wished he had chosen to put the thing the other way. ‘Well, you have one interesting correspondent, at any rate,’ said Mr. Blake, who never could refrain from commenting upon the smallest actions of those near him. Hubert made no reply. He was reading the letter a second time, while his cigar slowly went out. When he had finished it, he put his cigar into his mouth without noticing that it was unlighted, and sat silent, leaning his cheek on his hand. Sophy knew very well what letter he had been reading--at least, she knew the post-mark on it--and her heart beat faster as she bent her head over her work, and listened for Hubert’s next words. ‘I am afraid, sir,’ he said at length, ‘you will think me ungrateful for your kind welcome; but I think I must run off to-morrow for a day or two. It’s one of my Scotch cousins,’ he added apologetically, seeing a look of grave displeasure on his uncle’s face. ‘He is in trouble of some sort, and he seems to think I can be of use to him.’ ‘But that’s no reason for your hurrying off to Scotland before we have had time to look at each other,’ said the old gentleman peevishly. ‘It’s very unreasonable of him to expect such a thing.’ ‘I think if I am to be of any use I must go at once,’ said the younger man, again unfolding Alec Lindsay’s letter.