chin; then—he could not help it—looked askance upon the all-wide, cast-off waistcoat. “Make haste, and meet me in the drawing-room.” Saying this, Mrs. Jericho, in all her natural pomp, departed.

Whilst Jericho finishes his toilette, making really the most of himself, let us proceed to the drawing-room. Miss Agatha Pennibacker never looked prettier: she is neatly, gracefully attired in morning muslin web; and stands for the moment looking down with full eyes upon the cup of a flower, into which, with pouting lips, she idly blows. And who could think that that little flower should reflect such a rosy flush upon the face of Agatha? Perhaps, however, it is not all the flower: it may be, that the presence of Sir Arthur Hodmadod, who stands some way apart, half twirling a chair in the hollow of one hand, and[Pg 78] with a smile showing all his line teeth to the simple Agatha,—perhaps, the baronet has at least a share of the blush with the scarlet anemone.

[Pg 78]

“I am delighted to hear, my dear madam, that you suffered no fatigue—took no cold,” very tenderly observes the baronet—“beauty is a jewel—when I say a jewel, of course I mean a flower—that sometimes suffers from the night.”

“But, Sir Arthur—it was so fine, you recollect! Do you not remember the brilliancy of the moon that, you observed, looked like a new nun that had just taken the veil; and surely—can you forget”—asks the emphatic Agatha—“the beautiful compliment you paid to the stars?”

“I assure you, now, that’s just like me—I do,” replies the modest man. “Haven’t a notion.”

“Oh, you said—I recollect it so well,” says the earnest creature, raising her liquid eyes—“you said that the stars were the diamonds of the poor.”

“That’s very like me: but I am so liable to forget. Still, I should have sworn to the thought anywhere.”

Thus may man commit unconscious perjury. For, be it at once known that it was Candituft who, in his large benevolence, gave the stars to the poor man for his jewels: a sort of liberality Candituft was very prone to, for it in no way impoverished himself.

“You are aware, dear madam,” said Sir Arthur, a little abruptly, “that in the days of chivalry, it was the custom for ladies to be leeches. You know, when I say leeches, I don’t of course mean the nasty things in ponds, but surgeons. Then every lady-love dressed her own knight. Of course, I mean 

 Prev. P 67/244 next