The Way We Live Now

a great many years,-certainly from the time of the War of the Roses,-and had always held up their heads. But they had never held them very hi

But in the days of which we write the Squire of Carbury Hall had become a poor man simply through the wealth of others. His estate was supposed to bring him in ￡2,000 a year. Had he been content to let the Manor House, to live abroad, and to have an agent at home to deal with the tenants, he would undoubtedly have had enough to live luxuriously. But he lived on his own land among his own people, as all the Carburys before him had done, and was poor because he was surrounded by rich neighbours. The Longestaffes of Caversham,-of which family Dolly Longestaffe was the eldest son and hope,-had the name of great wealth, but the founder of the family had been a Lord Mayor of London and a chandler as lately as in the reign of Queen Anne. The Hepworths, who could boast good blood enough on their own side, had married into new money. The Primeros,-though the good nature of the country folk had accorded to the head of them the title of Squire Primero,-had been trading Spaniards fifty years ago, and had bought the Bundlesham property from a great duke. The estates of those three gentlemen, with the domain of the Bishop of Elmham, lay all around the Carbury property, and in regard to wealth enabled their owners altogether to overshadow our squire. The superior wealth of a bishop was nothing to him. He desired that bishops should be rich, and was among those who thought that the country had been injured when the territorial possessions of our prelates had been converted into stipends by Act of Parliament. But the grandeur of the Longestaffes and the too apparent wealth of the Primeros did oppress him, though he was a man who would never breathe a word of such oppression into the ear even of his dearest friend. It was his opinion,-which he did not care to declare loudly, but which was fully understood to be his opinion by those with whom he lived intimately,-that a man's standing i

ch for Carbury of Carbury;-though perhaps one or two of the elders among them entertained some ancient reverence for the family. Roger Carbury, Esq., was Carbury of Carbury,-a distinction of itself, which, from its nature, could not belong to the Longestaffes and Primeros, which did not even belong

a stout, good-looking man, with a firmly set square face, with features finely cut, a small mouth, good teeth, and well-formed chin. His hair was red, curling round his head, which was now partly bald at the top. He wore no other beard than small, almost unnoticeable whiskers. His eyes were small, but bright, and very cheery when his humour was good. He was about five feet nine in height, having the appearance

d her daughter,-and to the young baronet. The young baronet had just joined his regiment and did not care to visit his cousin in Suffolk; but Lady Carbury and Henrietta had spent a month there, and everything had been done to make them happy. The effort as regarded Henrietta had been altogether successful. As regarded the widow, it must be acknowledged that Carbury Hall had not quite suited her tastes. She had already begun to sigh for the glories of a literary career. A career of some kind,-sufficient to repay her for the sufferings of her early lif

y-six was young enough for any girl. But Henrietta had an opinion of her own. She liked her cousin, but did not love him. She was amazed, and even annoyed by the offer. She had praised him and praised the house so loudly to her mother,-having in her innocence never dreamed of such a proposition as this,-so that now she found it difficult to give an adequate reason for her refusal. Yes;-she had undoubtedly said that her cousin was charming, but she had not meant charming in that way. She did refuse the offer very plainly, but still with some apparent lack of persistency. When Roger suggested that she should take a few months to think of it, and her mother supported Roger's suggestion, she could say nothing stronge

ome short account shall be given in this chapter. The squire,-Roger Carbury was always called the squire about his own place,-had anticipated no evil when he so timed this second visit of his cousins

Montague had been there barely a week, when Roger Carbury thus spoke t

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indicating his resolve to hold to what he believed to be his own, and to fight if fighting be necessary. Montague knew him well, and became half aware that he had done something, he k

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l have hopes of success. Perhaps I have no right to hope, but I do. I tell it you just as

e before?" said Paul Mo

e had not said a word to her. He had intended to consult Roger Carbury himself,-should have done so in a day or two,-perhaps on that very day had not Roger spoken to him. "You have neither of you a shilling in the world," said Roger; "and now you know what my feelings are you must abandon it." Then Montague declared that he had a right to speak to Miss Carbury. He did not suppose that Miss Carbury cared a straw about him. He had not the least reason to think that

seeing either of the ladies. There had been very hot words between the men, but the last words which Roger spoke to the other on the railway platform were not qua

nto a "row" at Balliol, and had been rusticated,-had then got into another row, and was sent down. Indeed he had a talent for rows,-though, as Roger Carbury always declared, there was nothing really wrong about any of them. Paul was then twenty-one, and he took himself and his money out to California, and joined his uncle. He had perhaps an idea,-based on very insufficient grounds,-that rows are popular in California. At the end of three years he found that he did not like farming life in California,-and he found also that he did not like his uncle. So he returned to England, but on returning was altogether unable to get his ￡6,000 out of the Californian farm. Indeed he had been compelled to come away without any of it, with funds insufficient even to take him home, accepting with much dissatisfaction an assurance from his uncle that an income amounting to ten per cent. upon his capital should be remitted to him with the regularity of clockwork. The clock alluded to must have been one of Sam Slick's. It had gone very badly. At the end of the first quarter there came the proper remittance;-then half the amount;-then there was a long interval without anything; then some dropping payments now and again;-and then a twelvemonth without anything. At the end of that twelvemonth he paid a second visit to Calif

se with Henrietta, but he pleaded it in vain. Henrietta was colder than ever,-but she made use of one unfortunate phrase which destroyed all the effect which her coldness might have had. She said that she was too young to think of marrying yet. She had meant to imply that the difference in their ages was too great, but had n

e nothing further. "If she won't take you, there is no reason why I shouldn't try." That had been his argument. Roger would not accede to the justice even of this. It seemed to him that Paul was bound to retire altogether, partly becaus

d all the advantage of Carbury Manor at his back, whereas he had nothing but his share in the doubtful business of Fisker, Montague, and Montague, in a wretched little town 250 miles further off than San Francisco! But if, with all this, Roger could not prevail, why should he not try? W

t that Montague spent by far the greater part of his time as his friend's guest,-and all this was done with the understanding that Roger Carbury was to blaze up into hostile wrath should Paul ever receive the privilege to call himself Henrietta Carbury's favoured lover, but that everything was to be smooth between them should Henrietta be persuaded to become the mistress of Carbury Hall. So things went on up to t