That warrior was far from being dispirited. He was lying on a divan with an expression of utter content. He was even more gayly clad than Alf; but he was now taking his ease, and his coat was lying neatly folded on a cushion near by, revealing to the gaze in all its glory a waistcoat which would have occupied the place of honor at any exhibition of futurist art. By his right elbow stood a tiny inlaid table on which was a foaming flagon of beer. At his feet, looking like a brilliant, shimmering heap of silk, lay yet another of the army of female slaves. She lay in an attitude of sinuous ease, but her dark eyes were fixed on Bill's face with something of the adoring expression of a faithful dog. "'Ullo," began Mr. Montmorency (_né_ Grant) with a cheerful grin. "'Ere you are. 'Ave a drink with me. This 'ere girl"--he jerked an expressive thumb at his attendant--"she's a fair wonder, she is. Mr. Farr, 'e's told 'er off special to look after me, an' she don't 'arf take a pride in 'er work neither. She don't understand a word I say, but it don't matter. She just fetches me another every time I finish, an' seems to like me better the more I make 'er do. Never 'ad such a time in all me little life. Lucy, I call 'er." "Seems fond o' you," said Alf gloomily. "She is that. Thinks I'm no end of a nut. Well, 'ow did you get on with the nobility an' the gentry? 'Oo was it came? None o' your girl's people, I s'pose." Alf shook his head. "That's all up," he said. "None of 'er people won't never come to this 'ouse." "Rats!" said Bill. "Why, we ain't been 'ere more'n two days, any'ow, an' 'ere's somebody been to see us already. Why, it's on'y neighborly for them to look us up. 'Oo was it to-day, any'ow?" "The parson and 'is wife." "Very good, for a start," commented Bill. "'Tisn't good at all," Alf retorted hotly. "I tell you, Bill Grant...." "Montmorency," inserted Bill in gentle parenthesis. " ... It's all up." "What's all up?" "We are. This place. It won't do. I've--I've mucked it all up, I s'pose. Comes of you not bein' there." "That's right. Put it all on to me! I've got to trot round like a bloomin' nursemaid, 'ave I, to keep you out of mischief. What 'ave you been an' done, any'ow? "This 'ere parson's wife, she's a fair terror. She thinks we ain't respectable, an' she's off to get ole Sir FitzPeter to fire us out of 'ere." "'E can't." "No, but it knocks the bottom out o' me gettin' 'is daughter. 'Twasn't much of a chance before, but it's all up now." Bill considered. "Why don't the ole girl think we're respectable?" he asked at last. "'Cause of the blinkin' silly way Eustace 'as done the place up. An' she saw a lot o' them girls, an' she didn't like the way they was dressed."