"Sir Stafford lives on the rez de chaussee" said Haggerstone, who, having already told the story seven times the same morning, was quite perfect in the recital, "Sir Stafford lives on the rez de chaussee, with a small door into the garden. My Lady retains the entire first floor and the grand conservatory. George has a small garcon apartment off the terrace."

"Ho! very distressing!" sighed Mrs. Ricketts, whose woe-worn looks seemed to imply that she had never heard of a similar incident before; "and how unlike us, Arthur!" added she, with a smile of beaming affection. "He has ever been what you see him, since the day he stole my young, unsuspecting heart."

The Colonel looked over at the object thus designated, and, by the grin of malice on his features, appeared to infer that the compliment was but a sorry one, after all.

"'John Anderson my Jo, John,'" muttered he, half aloud.

"'We've climbed the hill toge-ge-ge-ther,'" chimed in Purvis, with a cackle.

"Gather what, sir? Blackberries, was it?" cried Haggerstone.

"Don't quote that low-lived creature," said Mrs. Ricketts; "a poet only conversant with peasants and their habits. Let us talk of our own order.

What of these poor Onslows?"

"Sir Stafford dines at two, madam. A cutlet, a vegetable, and a cherry tart; two gla.s.ses of Gordon's sherry, and a cup of coffee."

"Without milk. I had it from Proctor," broke in Purvis, who was bursting with jealousy at the accuracy of the other's narrative.

"You mean without sugar, sir," snapped Haggerstone. "n.o.body does take milk-coffee after dinner."

"I always do," rejoined Purvis, "when I can't get mara-mara-mara--"

"I hope you can get maraschino down easier than you p.r.o.nounce it, sir."

"Be quiet, Scroope," said his sister; "you always interrupt."

"He do make de devil of misverstandness wit his whatye-call-'em," added the Pole, contemptuously.

And poor Purvis, rebuked on every side, was obliged to fall back beside Martha and her embroidery.

"My Lady," resumed Haggerstone, "is served at eleven o'clock. The moment Granzini's solo is over in the ballet, an express is sent off to order dinner. The table is far more costly than Midchekoff's."

"I do believe well," said the Count, who always, for nationality's sake, deemed it proper to abuse the Russian. "De Midchekoff cook tell me he have but ten paoli how you say par tete by the tete for his dinner; dat to include everyting, from the caviar to de sheeze."

"That was not the style at the Pavilion formerly," roared out Haggerstone, repeating the remark in Fogla.s.s's ear.

And the ex-consul smiled blandly towards Mrs. Ricketts, and said he 'd take anything to England for her "with pleasure."

"He 's worse than ever," remarked Haggerstone, irritably. "When people have a natural infirmity, they ought to confine themselves to their own room."

"Particularly when it is one of the tem-tem-temper," said Purvis, almost choked with pa.s.sion.

"Better a hasty temper than an impracticable tongue, sir." said Haggerstone.

"Be quiet, Scroope," added Mrs. Ricketts; and he was still. Then, turning to the Colonel, she went on: "How thankful we ought to be that we never knew these people! They brought letters to us, some, indeed, from dear and valued friends. That sweet Diana Comerton, who married the Duke of Ellewater, wrote a most pressing entreaty that I should call upon them."

"She did n't marry the Duke; she married his chap-chaplain," chimed in Purvis.

"Will you be quiet, Scroope?" remarked the lady.

"I ought to know," rejoined he, grown courageous in the goodness of his cause. "He was Bob Nutty. Bitter Bob, we always called him at school. He had a kind of a poly-poly-poly--"

"A polyanthus," suggested Haggerstone.

"No. It was a poly-polypus a polypus, that made him snuffle in his speech."

"Ach Gott!" sighed the Pole; but whether in sorrow for poor "Bob," or in utter weariness at his historian, was hard to say.

"Lady Foxington, too," said Mrs. Ricketts, "made a serious request that we should be intimate with her friend Lady Hester. She was candid enough to say that her Ladyship would not suit me. 'She has no soul, Zoe,'

wrote she, 'so I need n't say more.'"

"Dat is ver bad," said the Pole, gravely.

"Still, I should have made her acquaintance, for the sake of that young creature Miss Dalton, I think they call her and whom I rather suspect to be a distant cousin of ours."

"Yes; there were Dawkinses at Exeter a very respectable solicitor, one was, Joe Dawkins," came in Purvis; "and he used to say we were co-co-co-connections."

"This family, sir, is called Dalton, and not even a stutter can make that Dawkins."

"Couldn't your friend Mr. Fogla.s.s find out something about these Daltons for us, as he goes through Germany?" asked Mrs. Ricketts of the Colonel.

"No one could execute such a commission better, madam, only you must give him his instructions in writing. Fogla.s.s," added he, at the top of his voice, "let me have your note-book for a moment."

"With pleasure," said he, presenting his snuff-box.

"No; your memorandum-book," screamed the other, louder.

"It's gone down," whispered the deaf man. "I lost the key on Tuesday last."

"Not your watch, man. I want to write a line in your note-book;" and he made a pantomimic of writing.

"Yes, certainly; if Mrs. R. will permit, I'll write to her with pleasure."

"Confound him!" muttered Haggerstone; and, taking up a visiting-card, he wrote on the back of it, "Could you trace the Daltons as you go back by Baden?"

The deaf man at once brightened up; a look of shrewd intelligence lighted up his fishy eyes as he said,

"Yes, of course; say, what do you want?"

"Antecedents family fortune," wrote Haggerstone.

"If dey have de tin," chimed in the Pole.

"If they be moral and of irreproachable reputation," said Mrs. Ricketts.

"Are they related to the other Dawkinses?" asked Purvis. "Let him ask if their mother was not G.o.dfather to no, I mean grandfather to the Reverend Jere-Jere-Jere--"

"Be quiet, Scroope will you be quiet?"