jumped up on the box beside her pretty aunt, who held the reins, and the dog-cart drove rapidly away.
Uncle William stood under the porch, watching them. His pot-hat was at an angle of forty-five degrees over his eyes, his hands were in his capacious breeches' pockets, his pipe was in his mouth. Elizabeth, who stood beside him, slipped her arm within his.
"Come and take a turn in the garden, uncle."
Then, when they were out of earshot, she continued—
"Have you known Colonel Wybrowe long?"
"Well, let me see. It'll be over two years. He came down here to hunt first, three winters ago. A fine man, ain't he?"
"Yes. Was he ever in the Guards?"
"He was, but he had to leave. He ran through a lot of money, I have heard."
"What does he do—besides hunt lions?"
"T don't know. He has a place somewhere, which is let; but it's not worth much."
"But has he no occupation? Doesn't he do anything for a livelihood, if he is poor?"
"No. What could he do? He has enough left to get on, I suppose, somehow."
"Do you think he is a humbug, uncle?"
"A humbug, Bessie? No! What should make you think that? Because he is such a favourite with the ladies? He is a plucky chap, and rides straight; and I never heard aught against him, except that he had been a bit too free with his money—and—and things."
Elizabeth at once turned the conversation into another
