retreat upon Lady Catharine, who, thinking him hardly used, in her
inextinguishable charity exerted herself to entertain him.

We were all glad when that first evening was over, and we got into the
smoking-room, whither Mr. Bruce was not entreated to follow. It was
always an augury of foul weather in Livingstone's temper when, instead
of the decent evening cigar, he smoked the short black _brule-gueule_,
loaded to the muzzle with cavendish. He sat thus for some minutes,
rolling out stormy puffs from under his mustache, and then broke out,

"I haven't an idea what to do with him" (there was no need to name the
object of his thoughts); "I made up my mind to risk a horse or two, for,
of course, he would have broken their knees; but when I offered him a
mount, he thanked me and said, 'He didn't hunt.' It would have got him
away from home, at all events. Poor Bella! how heavy on hand she _will_
find him."

"Ah! and he might have come to a timely end over timber; Providence does
interfere so benevolently sometimes." This was Forrester's pious
reflection.

"Well, that's over," Guy went on. "He must shoot, though; every one
shoots, or thinks he does. We have all the pheasants to kill yet
(by-the-by, Fallowfield comes over on Thursday for the Home Wood); that
will keep him employed for some time; but it's only putting off the evil
day. My match-making aunt, of blessed memory, how much she has to answer
for! I hate to think of Bella's _mignonne_ face alongside of that
flinty-cheeked Scotchman's."

"Don't be angry, Guy," suggested Charley, with some diffidence; "but, if