trouble about.  She is, however, a very knowing little minx, and evidently suspects me of being a sad, fickle dog—­and, as I surmise, has some plans, moreover, respecting my morose cousin, Marston, a kind of wicked Penruddock, who has carried all his London tastes into his savage retreat, a paradise of bogs and bushes.  There is, I am very confident, a liaison in that quarter.  The young lady is evidently a good deal afraid of him, and insists upon such precautions in our interviews, that they have been very few, and far between, indeed.  Today, there has been a fracas of some kind.  I have no doubt that Marston, poor devil, is jealous.  His situation is really pitiably comic—­with an intriguing mistress, a saintly wife, and a devil of a jealous temper of his own.  I shall meet Mary on reaching town.  Has Clavering (shabby dog!) paid his I.O.U. yet?  Tell the little opera woman she had better be quiet.  She ought to know me by this time; I shall do what is right, but won’t submit to be bullied.  If she is troublesome, snap your fingers at her, on my behalf, and leave her to her remedy.  I have written to Gray, to get things at Wynston in order.  She will draw upon you for what money she requires.  Send down two or three of the servants, if they have not already gone.  The place is very dusty and dingy, and needs a great deal of brushing and scouring.  I shall see you in town very soon.  By the way, has the claret I ordered from the Dublin house arrived yet?  It is consigned to you, and goes by the ‘Lizard’; pay the freightage, and get Edwards to pack it; ten dozen or so may as well go down to Wynston, and send other wines in proportion.  I leave details to you....”

Some further directions upon other subjects followed; and having subscribed the dispatch, and addressed it to the gentlemanlike scoundrel who filled the onerous office of factotum to this profligate and exacting man of the world, Sir Wynston Berkley rang his bell, and gave the two letters into the hand of his man, with special directions to carry them himself in person, to the post office in the neighboring village, early next morning.  These little matters completed, Sir Wynston stirred his fire, leaned back in his easy chair, and smiled blandly over the sunny prospect of his imaginary triumphs.

It here becomes necessary to describe, in a few words, some of the local relations of Sir Wynston’s apartments.  The bedchamber which he occupied opened from the long passage of which we have already spoken—­and there were two other smaller apartments opening from it in train.  In the further of these, which was entered from a lobby, communicating by a back stair with the kitchen and servants’ apartments, lay Sir Wynston’s valet, and the intermediate chamber was fitted up as a dressing room for the baronet himself.  These circumstances it is necessary to mention, that what follows may be clearly intelligible.