“Are you the fellow that has been abroad, and returned home lately?”

“I am the very fellow,” replied Woodward, with a ludicrous and good-humored emphasis upon the word fellow.

“There was a bonfire made for you on your return?”

“There was, my lord.”

“And there fell a shower of blood upon that occasion?”

“Not a doubt of it, my lord.”

“Well, you are a strange fellow altogether.  I have not for a long time met a man so much after my own heart.”

“That is because our dispositions resemble each other.  If I had the chance of a peerage, I would be as original as your lord-ship in the selection of my title; but I trust I shall be gratified in that, too; because, if I marry your niece, I will enter into public life, make myself not only a useful, but a famous man, and, of course, the title of Cockletown will be revived in my person, and will not perish with you.  No, my lord, should I marry your niece, your title shall descend with your blood, and there is something to console you.”

“Come,” said the old peer, “shake hands.  Have you a capacity for public business?”

“I was born for it, my lord.  I feel that fact; besides, I have a generous ambition to distinguish myself.”

“Well,” said the peer, “we will talk all that over in a few days.  But don’t you admit that I am an eccentric old fellow?”

“And doesn’t your lordship admit that I am an eccentric young fellow?”

“Ay, but, harkee, Mr. Woodward,” said the peer, “I always sleep with one eye open.”

“And I,” replied Harry, “sleep with both eyes open.”

“Come, confound me, that beats me, you must get on in life, and I will consider your pretensions to my niece.”

At this moment his mother and Miss Riddle entered the drawing-room, which, notwithstanding the comical shape of the mansion, was spacious, and admirably furnished.  Miss Riddle’s Christian name was Thomasina; but her eccentric uncle never called her by any other appellation than Tom, and occasionally Tommy.

“Mrs. Lindsay, uncle,” said the girl, introducing her.

“Eh?  Mrs. Lindsay!  O! how do you do, Mrs. Lindsay?  How is that unfortunate devil, your husband?”

Now Mrs. Lindsay was one of those women who, whenever there was a selfish object in view, could not only suppress her feelings, but exhibit a class of them in direct opposition to those she actually felt.

“Why unfortunate, my lord?” she asked, smiling.

“Why, because I am told he plays second fiddle at home, and a devilish deal out of tune too, in general.  You play first, ma’am; but they say, notwithstanding, that there’s a plentiful lack of harmony in your concerts.”

“All,” she replied, “your lordship must still have your joke, I perceive; but, at all events, I am glad to see you in such spirits.”