"And do you suppose _I_ care for it?" cried Robert, with charming
_naivete_. "Why, man, I don't know a partridge from a pigeon, and it
might be the 1st of April, instead of the 1st of September, for aught I
care. I never hurt a bird in my life, but I have hurt my own shoulder
with the weight of my gun. I only go down to Essex for the change of
air, the good dinners, and the sight of my uncle's honest, handsome
face. Besides, this time I've another inducement, as I want to see this
fair-haired paragon--my new aunt. You'll go with me, George?"

"Yes, if you really wish it."

The quiet form his grief had taken after its first brief violence, left
him as submissive as a child to the will of his friend; ready to go
anywhere or do anything; never enjoying himself, or originating any
enjoyment, but joining in the pleasures of others with a hopeless,
uncomplaining, unobtrusive resignation peculiar to his simple nature.
But the return of post brought a letter from Alicia Audley, to say that
the two young men could not be received at the Court.

"There are seventeen spare bed-rooms," wrote the young lady, in an
indignant running hand, "but for all that, my dear Robert, you can't
come; for my lady has taken it into her silly head that she is too ill
to entertain visitors (there is no more the matter with her than there
is with me), and she cannot have gentlemen (great, rough men, she says)
in the house. Please apologize to your friend Mr. Talboys, and tell him
that papa expects to see you both in the hunting season."

"My lady's airs and graces shan't keep us out of Essex for all that,"
said Robert, as he twisted the letter into a pipe-light for his big