"No, ma'am, I'm not wet, I thank you. By the by, nephew, this new
author is a friend of yours. I wonder a man of his family should
condescend to turn author. He can come to no good. I hope you will
drop his acquaintance--authors are very unprofitable associates, I'm
sure. I trust I shall see no more of Mr. Maltravers's books in my
house."

"Nevertheless, he is well thought of, sir, and makes no mean figure in
the world," said Lumley, stoutly; for he was by no means disposed to
give up a friend who might be as useful to him as Mr. Templeton himself.

"Figure or no figure--I have not had many dealings with authors in my
day; and when I had I always repented it. Not sound, sir, not
sound--all cracked somewhere. Mrs. Templeton, have the kindness to get
the Prayer-book--my hassock must be fresh stuffed, it gives me quite a
pain in my knee. Lumley, will you ring the bell? Your aunt is very
melancholy. True religion is not gloomy; we will read a sermon on
Cheerfulness."

"So, so," said Mr. Ferrers to himself, as he undressed that night--"I
see that my uncle is a little displeased with my aunt's pensive face--a
little jealous of her thinking of anything but himself: /tant mieux/. I
must work upon this discovery; it will not do for them to live too
happily with each other. And what with that lever, and what with his
ambitious projects, I think I see a way to push the good things of this
world a few inches nearer to Lumley Ferrers."



CHAPTER III.