PAU, in August, being what no man could be expected to stand, Duplessis and his friend Lord Bramleigh went into Spain, and lounged at San Sebastian. Here on a blazing noon of mid-September, as they were breakfasting at leisure, a budget of letters was delivered.
Lord Bramleigh, cheerful, wholesome, and roundfaced, chirped over his, according to his wont. He read most of them aloud, with comments. "Old Gosperton's shoot -- will I go? I'll see him damned. Why should I go and see old Gosperton shoot beaters? Not if I know it. Who's this? Mary St. Chad, by the Lord! Now what does she want? . . . 'I suppose you know that Bob Longford is . . .' I'll be shot if I know anything of the sort. I know he wants to all right; but you can't marry a chap's wife -- at least I don't think you can. . . . Oh, sorry! Fellow's dead. . . . I say, Tristram, do you hear that? Old Bland-Mainways is dead, and Bob Longford's married his relic -- married her in a week, my boy. What do you say to that? You marry a