animated him at his ordination would have seemed to ensure.  He was, in fact, a loose, slovenly man, somewhat too fond of his tumbler of punch; a little lax, perhaps, as to clerical discipline, but very staunch as to doctrine.  He possessed no industry or energy of any kind; but he was good-natured and charitable, lived on friendly terms with all his neighbours, and was intimate with every one that dwelt within ten miles of him, priest and parson, lord and commoner.

Such was the neighbourhood of Kelly’s Court, and among such Lord Ballindine had now made up his mind to remain a while, till circumstances should decide what further steps he should take with regard to Fanny Wyndham.  There were a few hunting days left in the season, which he intended to enjoy; and then he must manage to make shift to lull the time with shooting, fishing, farming, and nursing his horses and dogs.

His mother and sisters had heard nothing of the rumour of the quarrel between Frank and Fanny, which Mat Tierney had so openly alluded to at Handicap Lodge; and he was rather put out by their eager questions on the subject.  Nothing was said about it till the servant withdrew, after dinner, but the three ladies were too anxious for information to delay their curiosity any longer.

“Well, Frank,” said the elder sister, who was sitting over the fire, close to his left elbow—­(he had a bottle of claret at his right)—­“well, Frank, do tell us something about Fanny Wyndham; we are so longing to hear; and you never will write, you know.”

“Everybody says it’s a brilliant match,” said the mother.  “They say here she’s forty thousand pounds:  I’m sure I hope she has, Frank.”

“But when is it to be?” said Sophy.  “She’s of age now, isn’t she? and I thought you were only waiting for that.  I’m sure we shall like her; come, Frank, do tell us—­when are we to see Lady Ballindine?”

Frank looked rather serious and embarrassed, but did not immediately make any reply.

“You haven’t quarrelled, have you, Frank?” said the mother.

“The match isn’t off—­is it?” said Guss.

“Miss Wyndham has just lost her only brother,” said he; “he died quite suddenly in London about ten days since; she was very much attached to him.”

“Good gracious, how shocking!” said Sophy.

“I’m sorry,” said Guss.

“Why, Frank,” said their mother, now excited into absolute animation; “his fortune was more than double hers, wasn’t it?—­who’ll have it now?”

“It was, mother; five times as much as hers, I believe.”

“Gracious powers! and who has it now?  Why don’t you tell me, Frank?”

“His sister Fanny.”

“Heavens and earth!—­I hope you’re not going to let her quarrel with you, are you?  Has there been anything between you?  Have there been any words between you and Lord Cashel?  Why don’t you tell me, Frank, when you know how anxious I am?”

“If you must know all about it, I have not had any words, as you call them, with Fanny Wyndham; but I have with her guardian.  He thinks a hundred and twenty thousand pounds much too great a fortune for a Connaught viscount.  However, I don’t think so.  It will be for time to show what Fanny thinks.  Meanwhile, the less said about it the better; remember that, girls, will you?”