After he had seen his horses well served, and put on an old-fashioned gold-buttoned coat, which by its freshness shewed he had been very chary of it, a better wig, but in stiff buckle, and a long sword, stuck stiffly, as if through his coat lappets, in he came, and with an imperious air entering the parlour, “What, nobody come to meet me!” said he; and saluting her ladyship.  “How do you do, niece?” and looked about haughtily, she says, as if he expected to see me.  My lady presenting the countess, said, “The Countess of C., Sir Jacob!”—­“Your most obedient humble servant, Madam.  I hope his lordship is well.”—­“At your service, Sir Jacob.”

“I wish he was,” said he, bluntly; “he should not have voted as he did last sessions, I can tell you that.”

“Why, Sir Jacob,” said she, “servants, in this free kingdom, don’t always do as their masters would have ’em.”—­“Mine do, I can tell you that.  Madam.”

“Right or wrong, Sir Jacob?”—­“It can’t be wrong if I command them.”—­“Why, truly, Sir Jacob, there’s many a private gentleman carries it higher to a servant, than he cares his prince should to him; but I thought, till now, it was the king only that could do no wrong.”

“But I always take care to be right.”—­“A good reason—­because, I dare say, you never think you can be in the wrong.”—­“Your ladyship should spare me:  I’m but just come off a journey.  Let me turn myself about, and I’ll be up with you, never fear.  Madam.—­But where’s my nephew, Lady Davers?  And where’s your lord?  I was told you were all here, and young H. too upon a very extraordinary occasion; so I was willing to see how causes went among you.  It will be long enough before you come to see me.”—­“My brother, and Lord Davers, and Mr. H. have all rode out.”—­“Well, niece,” strutting with his hands behind him, and his head held up—­“Ha!—­He has made a fine kettle on’t—­han’t he?—­that ever such a rake should be so caught!  They tell me, she’s plaguy cunning, and quite smart and handsome.  But I wish his father were living.  Yet what could he have done?  Your brother was always unmanageable.  I wish he’d been my son; by my faith, I do!  What!  I hope, niece, he locks up his baby, while you’re here?  You don’t keep her company, do you?”

“Yes, Sir Jacob, I do:  and you’ll do so too, when you see her.”—­“Why, thou countenancest him in his folly, child:  I’d a better opinion of thy spirit!  Thou married to a lord, and thy brother to a—­Can’st tell me what, Barbara?  If thou can’st, pr’ythee do.”—­“To an angel; and so you’ll say presently.”

“What, dost think I shall look through his foolish eyes?  What a disgrace to a family ancienter than the Conquest! O Tempora!  O Mores! What will this world come to?” The countess was diverted with this odd gentleman, but ran on in my praise, for fear he should say some rude things to me when I came in; and Lady Davers seconded her.  But all signified nothing.  He would tell us both his mind, let the young whelp (that was his word) take it as he would—­“And pray,” said he, “can’t I see this fine body before he comes in?  Let me but turn her round two or three times, and ask her a question or two; and by her answer I shall know what to think of her in a twinkling.”—­“She is gone to take a little airing, Sir Jacob, and won’t be back till supper-time.”