The Misses Barkham, Barkhambury, Tunbridge Wells, whose father had been at college with Mr.Honeyman, came regularly in June for sea air, letting Barkhambury for the summer season.

Then, for many years, she had her nephew, as we have seen; and kind recommendations from the clergymen of Brighton, and a constant friend in the celebrated Dr.Goodenough of London, who had been her father's private pupil, and of his college afterwards, who sent his patients from time to time down to her, and his fellow-physician, Dr.
H----, who on his part would never take any fee from Miss Honeyman, except a packet of India curry-powder, a ham cured as she only knew how to cure them, and once a year, or so, a dish of her tea.
"Was there ever such luck as that confounded old Duchess's ?" says Mr.
Gawler, coal-merchant and lodging-house keeper, next door but two, whose apartments were more odious in some respects than Mrs.Bugsby's own.
"Was there ever such devil's own luck, Mrs.G.?
It's only a fortnight ago as I read in the Sussex Advertiser the death of Miss Barkham, of Barkhambury, Tunbridge Wells, and thinks I, there's a spoke in your wheel, you stuck-up little old Duchess, with your cussed airs and impudence.

And she ain't put her card up three days; and look yere, yere's two carriages, two maids, three children, one of them wrapped up in a Hinjar shawl--man hout a livery,--looks like a foring cove I think--lady in satin pelisse, and of course they go to the Duchess, be hanged to her! Of course it's our luck, nothing ever was like our luck.
I'm blowed if I don't put a pistol to my 'ead, and end it, Mrs.G.There they go in--three, four, six, seven on 'em, and the man.

That's the precious child's physic I suppose he's a-carryin' in the basket.

Just look at the luggage.