"Ahem!" said the squire, evidently flattered, and yet not convinced. "My
brother Will is a very acute fellow, and I make no--my dear little girl--
question, but that (when you have seen as much of the world as I have,
you will grow suspicious) he thought that any good word said of me to my
daughter would (you see, Lucy, I am as clear-sighted as my neighbours,
though I don't give myself all their airs; which I very well might do,
considering my great-great-great-grandfather, Hugo Brandon, had a hand in
detecting the gunpowder plot) he told to me again!"

"Nay, but I am quite sure my uncle never spoke of you to me with that
intention."

"Possibly, my dear child; but when (the evenings are much shorter than
they were!) did you talk with your uncle about me?

"Oh, when staying with Mrs. Warner, in London; to be sure, it is six
years ago, but I remember it perfectly. I recollect, in particular, that
he spoke of you very handsomely to Lord Mauleverer, who dined with him
one evening when I was there, and when my uncle was so kind as to take me
to the play. I was afterwards quite sorry that he was so good-natured,
as he lost (you remember I told you the story) a very valuable watch."

"Ay, ay, I remember all about that, and so (how long friendship lasts
with some people!) Lord Mauleverer dined with William! What a fine thing
it is for a man (it is what I never did, indeed; I like being what they
call 'Cock of the Walk'--let me see, now I think of it, Pillum comes
to-night to play a hit at backgammon) to make friends with a great man
early in (yet Will did not do it very early, poor fellow! He struggled
first with a great deal of sorrow--hardship, that is) life! It is many
years now since Will has been hand-and-glove with my ('t is a bit of a