mr. beresford meanwhile had strolled round to the stables, ascertained that, with the exception of the loss of a little hair from her off-hock, gulnare seemed none the worse for her journey (horses never travel by rail without a something), ordered his groom to bring her round in half an hour's time, and made a cursory inspection of the other horses while finishing his cigar. at the time appointed he mounted and rode away into brighton, starting at first over the downs in a brisk canter, but gradually subsiding into a checked walk, which ill suited gulnare's fiery disposition, and made her rider break the current of his thoughts by several behests of "steady now!" "quiet, old lady;" and such like. indeed, mr. beresford had quite enough subject-matter for reflection. he, too, had been turning over in his mind the expediency of proposing to miss townshend, and had almost determined upon its being the right thing to do. the objection which he had urged in his discussion with kate mellon, that money and ugliness generally went together, would not hold good here. miss townshend was pretty and presentable; she was not clever, certainly; but so long as she was able to talk about shakespeare and the musical glasses, that was all which the world would require of her in the way of conversation, and that sort of jargon would be easily picked up. she knew passably sufficient of the accomplishments of society, and was, as times went, in a very good set. her people belonged to the plutocracy; but beresford liked that rather than otherwise, recollecting how far pleasanter than the sham state and starveling magnificence of some of his aristocratic friends were the town-houses and country places of city magnates and merchant princes, where every thing, from the sleek porter in the hall to the new and massive salt-spoons on the table, spoke of wealth. to ascertain whether his venture was a safe one was the object of beresford's visit to brighton. he had known so many mushroom magnates, who, after a couple of seasons of full-blown pride, had collapsed and tumbled into the mud from which they sprung, that he took no man's monetary position on hearsay. he had met mr. townshend at capital houses, and had seen his name in many apparently excellent city ventures; but, then, had he not met at the duke of banffshire's mr. poyntz, the great railway contractor, who two months afterwards smashed for a million and a half? and did not half the peerage welcome as a friend and respect as a banker the great mr. shoddy, who was at that moment engaged in oakum-picking in expiation of his fraudulent practices? there must be no mistake on this head; it would be a pretty thing if he, charles beresford, were not merely to find himself after a year or two with a penniless wife upon his hands, but were also to have the world talking about his mésalliance. as to the idea of rejection, that had scarcely entered his head. he was generally liked by women, and thought miss townshend no exception to the rule. her father perhaps might look for money, and then he should have to square him as best he could. but beresford argued to himself: these nouveaux riches generally look for position; and if they cannot get rank for their girls, they like a good official connexion. did not petter marry the daughter of old dunkel, the west-india merchant (by the by, she was a little woolly, though), simply through his being secretary to the lakes and fisheries department? and a commissioner at the tin-tax ranked higher than that. walbrook delighted to talk of "my son-in-law's connexion with the government;" and dowgate hill rejoiced in seeing a fourth-rate cabinet minister or occasional secretaries of foreign legations, much beribboned, at his daughter's drums. as to whether he cared for the girl, it scarcely entered into his mind to inquire; they would get on well enough; he would let her have her own way, so long as she did not interfere with him; he should keep up his hunting, but cut play of every kind; and if he got at all bored, why then he would go into parliament. fortunately, he thought, he was not like most men: he could get married without its interfering with any body; there was no "establishment" to break up; no inhabitant of a brompton villa to tear her hair and use strong language until a liberal settlement was made; no jealous girls to upbraid and-- as the thought of kate mellon and the recollection of his last interview with her flashed into beresford's mind, he started involuntarily, and touched the mare with his spur. gulnare jumped into the air, and started off like an arrow. by the time he pulled her up, he was at the top of st. james's street, brighton; and as he leisurely rode down the hill, he revolved in his mind the means of arriving at an immediate knowledge of his intended father-in-law's stability.

he was not long in arriving at his determination. of all the men he knew, simnel, the secretary at the tin-tax office, was the most knowing; and he and beresford were on the most intimate terms. had beresford been in town, he would have consulted simnel personally about this marriage business; as it was, he thought that the secretary was the likeliest man to get for him the information he required. this information must be had at once; as, once satisfied, he would not give another evening's chance to lyster or that man churchill, in whose wheel he had put so neat a spoke, but would commence immediately to clear the course on which he hoped to win. so he turned into the old steine, and leisurely dismounting at the door of the telegraph-office, resigned gulnare into the hands of a passing boy, to whom he was so intent on giving instructions as to walking her gently up and down, that he did not observe "that man churchill" pass him in an open fly, the driver of which must have been stimulated by the prospect of a large reward, as his horse was proceeding at a pace very rarely undertaken by brighton fly-cattle. but perfectly ignorant of the propinquity of the gentleman with whose family history he had recently manifested so intimate an acquaintance, mr. beresford entered the telegraph-office, and taking up one of the printed slips, wrote the following message:

"c. b., brighton to robert simnel, tin-tax office, rutland house, london.

"non olet pecunia. whether a round game with townshend of queensbury gardens would repay the necessary illumination. reply; figures, if possible."

the clerk counted the words and grinned. when beresford, after saying that he would call for the answer, paid and walked out, the clerk carried the paper into the inner room where the manipulator was busy with his ever-clicking needles, and read the message out to him, grinning again; whereupon they both expressed opinion that it was a "rum start," and another of those "games" which supplied the interesting youths employed by the electric telegraph company with so many topics of conversation.

mr. beresford put up his horse at a livery-stable, and then walked down towards the sea to while away the time until the answer should arrive. he knew brighton thoroughly. he was a regular visitor from saturday till tuesday during november and december, when he stayed at the bedford, and generally dined at the cavalry mess; but he had never seen the place in its autumnal aspect. those who only know brighton in the winter would scarcely recognise her in september, when she has more the aspect of ramsgate or margate. in place of the dashing carriages, flys at half-a-crown an hour crawl up and down the king's road, the horses, perfectly accustomed to the dreary job, ambling along at their own sleepy pace; the riding-masters are still to the fore, but for pupils, instead of the brilliant écuyères, they have heavy, clumsy girls in hired habits and hideous hats. all the officers of the cavalry regiment who can get leave, take it; and those who cannot, devote themselves to tobacco in the solitude of their barrack-rooms. the esplanade is thronged with fat people from the metropolitan suburbs, gorgeous hebrews with their families from the minories, and lawyers' clerks with a week's holiday. the beach is covered with children stone-digging and feet-wetting; with girls who have just bathed, with their hair down their backs, and girls who are waiting for machines; with men selling shell-toys, and women imploring purchase of crochet-dolls; with hilarious men throwing sticks for their dogs to swim after; with contemplative men reading books, and gazing off them vacantly across the sea; with drowsy men, supine, with their hats shading their faces from the sun. the whole place is changed; the rich hotel and shopkeepers have gone inland (tunbridge wells is a favourite place of theirs) for relaxation, and their substitutes, goaded into madness by the unchanging blue sky and burning brick pavement, are bearish and morose; men wear plaid shooting-coats of vivid patterns in the afternoon, and women, in flapping hats with draggled feathers, promenade in the pavilion; brill's swimming-bath shuts up for painting and decoration; and there are people seen walking on the chain pier.

in this abnormal state of affairs mr. beresford found himself any thing but happy. he went to mutton's and had some soup, and to folthorp's and read the papers; he strolled down the king's road, and inspected the evolutions of various young ladies who were disporting in the waves, and indulging the passers-by with the gambols of bloomsbury-super-mare. then he put his legs up on a bench on the esplanade, and smoked a cigar, and stared at the passers-by; and then, after the lapse of a couple of hours, he walked back to the telegraph-office, where he found a reply waiting for him. it was from mr. simnel, and merely said:

"olet. three stars in leadenhall street and director of l. b. and s. c. meaning ten thou. plated heavily. if with good hand, play game."