Mason, and do not remember ever having seen her. Can I do anything for you, brother? Can I be useful to you in any way? Pray command me and Barnes here, who after City hours will be delighted if he can be serviceable to you – I am nailed to this counter all the morning, and to the House of Commons all night; – I will be with you in one moment, Mr. Quilter. Good-bye, my dear Colonel. How well India has agreed with you! how young you look! the hot winds are nothing to what we endure in Parliament. Hobson,« in a low voice, »you saw about that h'm, that power of attorney – and h'm and h'm will call here at 12 about that h'm. I am sorry I must say good-bye; it seems so hard after not meeting for so many years.«

»Very,« says the Colonel.

»Mind and send for me whenever you want me, now.«

»Oh, of course,« said the elder brother, and thought when will that ever be?

»Lady Ann will be too delighted at hearing of your arrival. Give my love to Clive – a remarkably fine boy, Clive – good-morning;« and the Baronet was gone, and his bald head might presently be seen alongside of Mr. Quitter's confidential grey poll, both of their faces turned into an immense ledger.

Mr. Hobson accompanied the Colonel to the door, and shook him cordially by the hand as he got into his cab. The man asked whither he should drive? and poor Newcome hardly knew where he was or whither he should go. »Drive! a – oh – ah – damme, drive me anywhere away from this place!« was all he could say; and very likely the cabman thought he was a disappointed debtor who had asked in vain to renew a bill. In fact, Thomas Newcome had overdrawn his little account. There was no such balance of affection in that bank of his brothers as the simple creature had expected to find there.

When he was gone, Sir Brian went back to his parlour, where sate young Barnes perusing the paper. »My revered uncle seems to have brought back a quantity of cayenne pepper from India, sir,« he said to his father.

»He seems a very kind-hearted simple man,« the Baronet said – »eccentric; but he has been more than thirty years away from home. Of course you will call upon him to-morrow morning. Do everything you can to make him comfortable. Whom would he like to meet at dinner? I will ask some of the Direction. Ask him, Barnes, for next Wednesday or Saturday – no; Saturday I dine with the Speaker. But see that every attention is paid him.«

»Does he intend to have our relation up to town, sir? I should like to meet Mrs. Mason of all things. A venerable washerwoman, I dare say, or perhaps keeps a public-house,« simpered out young Barnes.

»Silence, Barnes; you jest at everything, you young men do – you do. Colonel Newcome's affection, for his old nurse does him the greatest honour,« said the Baronet, who really meant what he said.

»And I hope my mother will have her to stay a good deal at Newcome. I'm sure she must have been a washerwoman, and mangled my uncle in early life. His costume struck me with respectful astonishment. He disdains the use of straps to his trousers, and is seemingly unacquainted with gloves. If he had died in India, would my late aunt have had to perish on a funeral pile?« Here Mr. Quilter, entering with a heap of bills, put an end to these sarcastic remarks; and young Newcome, applying himself to his business (of which he was a perfect master), forgot about his uncle till after City hours, when he entertained some young gentlemen of Bays's Club with an account of his newly-arrived relative.

Towards the City, whither he wended his way whatever had been the ball or the dissipation of the night before, young Barnes Newcome might be seen walking every morning, resolutely and swiftly, with his neat umbrella. As he passed Charing Cross on his way westwards, hits little boots trailed slowly over the pavement, his head hung languid (bending lower still, and smiling with faded sweetness, as he doffed his hat and saluted a passing carriage), his umbrella trailed after him. Not a dandy on all the Pall Mall pavement seemed to have less to do than he.

Heavyside, a large young officer of the Household troops, old Sir Thomas de Boots, and Horace Fogey, whom every one knows, are in the window of Bays's, yawning as widely as that window itself.