“Dear L.,--I have come down here with a Yankee, whom I chanced upon as a travelling companion, to look at the mines,--gold, they call them; and if I am not seduced into a search after nuggets, I shall be with you some time--I cannot define the day--next week. The country is prettier and the people less barbarous than I expected; but I hear your neighborhood will compensate me for both disappointments. “Yours, “N. M.” “Well! are we to send the carriage into Coleraine for him, Mark?” asked Sir Arthur, as his son continued to read the letter, without lifting his eyes. “No,” said Mark, in some confusion. “This is a sort of put-off. He cannot be here for several days. Some friend or acquaintance has dragged him off in another direction;” and he crushed the note in his hand, afraid of being asked to read or to show it. “The house will be full after Tuesday, Mark,” said Lady Lyle. “The Gores and the Masseys and the M'Clintocks will all be here, and Gambier Graham threatens us with himself and his two daughters.” “If they come,” broke in Mark, “you'll have my rooms at your disposal.” “I delight in them,” said Mrs. Trafford; “and if your elegantly fastidious friend should really come, I count upon them to be perfect antidotes to all his impertinence. Sally Graham and the younger one, whom her father calls 'Dick,' are downright treasures when one is in want of a forlorn hope to storm town-bred pretension.” “If Maitland is to be baited, Alice, I 'd rather the bullring was somewhere else,” said her brother, angrily. “The real question is, shall we have room for all these people and their followers?” said Lady Lyle. “I repeat,” said Mark, “that if the Graham girls are to be here, I 'm off. They are the most insufferably obtrusive and aggressive women I ever met; and I 'd rather take boat and pass a month at the Hebrides than stop a week in the house with them.” “I think Sally thrashed you when you came home once for the holidays,” said Mrs. Trafford, laughing. “No, Alice, it was Beck,” broke in her sister. “She has a wonderful story of what she calls a left-hander, that she planted under his eye. She tells it still with great gusto, but owns that Mark fought on very bravely for two rounds after.” “And are these the people you expect me to show Maitland?” said Mark, rising from the table; “I'd rather, fifty times rather, write and say, 'We cannot receive you; our house is full, and will be for a month to come.'” “Yes, dear Mark, that is the really sensible way to look at it. Nobody nowadays has any scruple in such matters. One is invited from Monday to Thursday, but on no possible pretext can he stay to Friday.” And so Mrs. Trafford ran away, heaping, by apparent consolations, coals of fire on his angry head. “I think you had better get Alice to write the letter herself,” said Bella; “I'm sure she will do it with great tact and discretion.”