Landlord.—"Ah, it is Mr. Dale, then! I thought so when you came into the hall. I hope your lady is quite well, and the Squire too; fine pleasant-spoken gentleman; no fault of his if Mr. Egerton went wrong. Well, we have never seen him—I mean Mr. Egerton—since that time. I don't wonder he stays away; but my lord's son, who was brought up here,—it an't nat'ral like that he should turn his back on us!"
Mr. Dale made no reply, and the landlord was about to retire, when the Parson, pouring out another glass of the port, said—"There must be great changes in the parish. Is Mr. Morgan, the medical man, still here?"
"No, indeed; he took out his ploma after you left, and became a real doctor; and a pretty practice he had too, when he took, all of a sudden, to some new-fangled way of physicking—I think they calls it homysomething——"
"Homœopathy!"
"That's it—something against all reason: and so he lost his practice here and went up to Lunnun. I've not heard of him since."
"Do the Avenels keep their old house?"
"Oh, yes!—and are pretty well off, I hear say. John is always poorly; though he still goes now and then to the Odd Fellows, and takes his glass; but his wife comes and fetches him away before he can do himself any harm."
"Mrs. Avenel is the same as ever?"
"She holds her head higher, I think," said the landlord, smiling. "She was always—not exactly proud like, but what I calls gumptious."
"I never heard that word before," said the Parson, laying down his knife and fork. "Bumptious, indeed, though I believe it is not in the dictionary, has crept into familiar parlance, especially amongst young folks at school and college."