“Our new name has been chosen with a wary eye to your suggestions.  My books—­I hope you have not forgotten my Books?—­contain, under the heading of Skins To Jump Into, a list of individuals retired from this mortal scene, with whose names, families, and circumstances I am well acquainted.  Into some of those Skins I have been compelled to Jump, in the exercise of my profession, at former periods of my career.  Others are still in the condition of new dresses and remain to be tried on.  The Skin which will exactly fit us originally clothed the bodies of a family named Bygrave.  I am in Mr. Bygrave’s skin at this moment-and it fits without a wrinkle.  If you will oblige me by slipping into Miss Bygrave (Christian name, Susan); and if you will afterward push Mrs. Wragge—­anyhow; head foremost if you like—­into Mrs. Bygrave (Christian name, Julia), the transformation will be complete.  Permit me to inform you that I am your paternal uncle.  My worthy brother was established twenty years ago in the mahogany and logwood trade at Belize, Honduras.  He died in that place; and is buried on the south-west side of the local cemetery, with a neat monument of native wood carved by a self-taught negro artist.  Nineteen months afterward his widow died of apoplexy at a boarding-house in Cheltenham.  She was supposed to be the most corpulent woman in England, and was accommodated on the ground-floor of the house in consequence of the difficulty of getting her up and down stairs.  You are her only child; you have been under my care since the sad event at Cheltenham; you are twenty-one years old on the second of August next; and, corpulence excepted, you are the living image of your mother.  I trouble you with these specimens of my intimate knowledge of our new family Skin, to quiet your mind on the subject of future inquiries.  Trust to me and my books to satisfy any amount of inquiry.  In the meantime write down our new name and address, and see how they strike you:  ’Mr. Bygrave, Mrs. Bygrave, Miss Bygrave; North Shingles Villa, Aldborough.’  Upon my life, it reads remarkably well!

“The last detail I have to communicate refers to my acquaintance with Mrs. Lecount.

“We met yesterday, in the grocer’s shop here.  Keeping my ears open, I found that Mrs. Lecount wanted a particular kind of tea which the man had not got, and which he believed could not be procured any nearer than Ipswich.  I instantly saw my way to beginning an acquaintance, at the trifling expense of a journey to that flourishing city.  ’I have business to-day in Ipswich,’ I said, ’and I propose returning to Aldborough (if I can get back in time) this evening.  Pray allow me to take your order for the tea, and to bring it back with my own parcels.’  Mrs. Lecount politely declined giving me the trouble—­I politely insisted on taking it.  We fell into conversation.  There is no need to trouble you with our talk.  The result of it on my mind is—­that Mrs. Lecount’s one weak point, if she has such a