"And how is the little angel, sir?" asked Ferrers.

"She kissed me, though I woke her up; children are usually cross when
wakened."

"Are they?--little dears! Well, sir, so I was right, then; may I see
the letter?"

"There it is."

Ferrers drew his chair to the fire, and read his own production with all
the satisfaction of an anonymous author.

"How kind!--how considerate!--how delicately put!--a double favour! But
perhaps, after all, it does not express your wishes."

"In what way?"

"Why--why--about myself."

"/You!/--is there anything about /you/ in it?--I did not observe
/that/--let me see."

"Uncles never selfish!--mem. for commonplace book!" thought Ferrers.

The uncle knit his brows as he re-perused the letter. This won't do,
Lumley," said he very shortly, when he had done.

"A seat in parliament is too much honour for a poor nephew, then, sir?"