‘Yes, yes. The best you have, whatever it may be. Get it ready as soon as you can. My wife may be here at any moment. Another bottle of that champagne too, which I had at dinner. Cursed bad stuff,’ he added to himself, as the servant left the room, ‘but women don’t know the difference. Well, who would ever have thought I could have stood such discomfort as this, with so good a grace, for the sake of a woman? But _such_ a woman! I don’t believe she has her peer in England. As for that little sharp-featured, flirting, deceitful countess, she can’t hold a candle to her. What fools and blind men are with regard to women! It is quite impossible to decide why one piece of femininity should hold them as in a vice whilst they pass over or ignore the virtues of another. Now, to my mind, Nell combines all the perfections of which human nature is capable. She is beautiful, amiable (a bit of a temper, but she very seldom shows it, and a woman is worth nothing without a spice of the devil in her), dignified, sensible, and modest. She would have made a magnificent countess; beaten Lady D----and Lady S----, and all the other Court beauties hollow. However, I’m very glad Ilfracombe didn’t see it in that light, and that the crumbs from the rich man’s table have fallen to my share. Hang it all! What a time she is. It’s nearly ten. Surely she isn’t going to play-off any airs and graces on me, and pose as a blushing bride. Or is it only a womanly dodge to make her welcome more assured? She needn’t fear missing it. I never felt so much for any woman in my life before. I almost think, if she thought it worth her while, that she might make a better man of me. I wonder if she will learn to love me? I know what her love for that ass Ilfracombe was, and that it is worth a man’s trying for. I wonder--I wonder--by Jove! that’s the half-hour striking. Whatever can be the reason of this delay? Waiter,’ continued Mr Portland to the man, who now appeared with the supper, ‘is that half-past ten that struck just now? Surely, your clocks must be very fast.’ ‘Don’t think so, sir! I heard the missus asking the master to put ’em on a bit just now. Do you think the lady will come to-night, sir?’ ‘Of course she will! What do you mean by asking me such a question?’ ‘Only, you see, sir, we’re obliged to close at eleven, whether we like or no, so the missus told me to ask you if--’ ‘Here!’ exclaimed Jack Portland, quickly; ‘get me pen and ink and paper at once. I must send a messenger up to Panty-cuckoo Farm!’ ‘Panty-cuckoo Farm,’ repeated the waiter; ‘Mr Llewellyn’s place? That be better than a mile and an’ arf away from here, sir. It’ll take a good bit of time to carry a letter there to-night.’ ‘Never mind! I’m willing to pay for it, and for keeping you up as well, but the message must be carried by some one. Whom have you to send?’ ‘I expect the ostler can go, but I’ll ask the missus,’ replied the waiter, as he went to consult the higher powers.