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My companions were the same as mentioned in the preceding chapter, a nephew, James Arther Owen, and an obliging, tall young man of twenty, who acted as guide and driver.
Amongst the letters there was a little note addressed, as a former letter we have heard of had been, to "Arther Pendennis, Esquire," which Arthur opened with a start and a blush, and read with a very keen pang of interest, and sorrow, and regard.
She had opened some of his other letters because she wanted to get at that one. She had the horrid paper poisoning her bag at that moment. She took it out and offered it to her brother-in-law. "Arther Pendennis, Esq.," he read in a timid little sprawling handwriting, and with a sneer on his face. "No, my dear, I won't read any more.
"When it became impossible to leave him with Lizzie I sent him to school. He spends his holidays with my agent here at Farringay. He's quite a nice little chap, and good looking, like Arther, and by the gossip of the neighbourhood I'm supposed to be his father. Do you mind leaving it at that? It's no worse for him and less ignominious for me."
Executive departments had not yet been organized; but in John Jay as secretary for foreign affairs, in General Knox as secretary of war, in Samuel Osgood, Walter Livingston, and Arther Lee, as controllers of the treasury all of whom had been appointed by the old Congress he found men of large experience, enlightened views, sturdy integrity, and sound judgment.
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