chimney threatens to fall; it is true that the staircase is all to pieces, but this is no fault of mine. He has talked to Mrs. Kite, but I am sure she never used the words he has put into her mouth. Where is Macduff? I wish, my dear Saltren, you would find him and send him to me. By-the-way, have you spoken to your father about—what was it? Oh, yes, the sale of his house. Fortunate it is that a railway company, and not I, want Chillacot, or I should be represented as the rich man demanding the ewe lamb, as coveting Naboth's vineyard, by this prophet of the press. Who the deuce is he? He must have been here and must know something of the place; there is just so much of truth mixed up with the misrepresentations as to make the case look an honest one. I want Macduff. Have you seen your father about that matter of Chillacot, Saltren?"
"My lord," said Jingles, "I am sorry I have not seen him yet. In fact, to tell the truth, I—I yesterday forgot the commission."
"Oh!" said Lord Lamerton, now hot and irritable, "oh don't trouble yourself any more about it. I'll send Matthews after Macduff. I'll go down to Chillacot myself. Confound this correspondent. His impudence is amazing."
Lord Lamerton took most matters easily. The enigmatical words of his daughter, the preceding evening, in the avenue, had not made much impression on him. They were, he said, part of her rodomontade. But he repeated them to his wife, and to her they had a graver significance than he attributed to them. This article in the paper, however, agitated him deeply, and he was very angry, more angry than any one had seen him for several years; and the last explosion was caused by the poisoning of some of his fox-hounds.
"Matthews, send James down after Mr. Macduff at once."
"Yes, my lord."
