"Well, it's some air or stuff that you don't get by sitting up all night, and lying in bed till three. From the doctor's I went to the Rag, and found Meaburn there; and we'd just agreed to dine together, when Punch Croker came in. I told Meaburn to hold on, and we'd get a rise out of Punch. He asked us if we were going to dine, and we said yes, and that he might dine too, if he liked. And I told him I'd got some ozone, and asked him his opinion, as a sort of fellow who knew those things, how it should be cooked. He thought for one moment, and then said, perfectly quietly, 'Well, if you have it before the cheese, it should be broiled.' Never let on that he didn't know what it was; never changed a muscle of his face,--give you my word!" They all laughed at this, and then the tall guardsman said, "It's a great bore, though, to get a reputation for stupidity. It's as bad as being supposed to be funny. People are always expecting you to say stupid things, and sometimes it's deuced hard to do." "Poor old Charleville!" said Beresford; "we all sympathise with you, old fellow, though no one can imagine you ever found any difficulty in being stupid. Comes natural, don't it, old boy?" Captain Charleville didn't seem to relish this remark, and was about to reply angrily, when Tom Burton, the man who had been singing, struck in hastily with, "Well, it's better to be or to seem stupid, than to be stupid and have the credit of being clever. Now there's Northaw, only said one decent thing in his life; and because that has been told about, fellows say that he's a deuced clever fellow, and that there's more in him than you'd think." "What was the one good thing he did say?" asked Kate. "Well, it was one day when he was out with the Queen's last season. Stradwicke was there, and Pattan, and Bellairs, and a lot of men; and Northaw was in a horrid bad temper,--had got up too soon, or something, and was as rusty as Old Boots; so while he was fretting and fuming about, and blackguarding the weather, and his stirrup-leathers, and every thing else, Tom Winch rode up to him. You know Tom Winch, son of great contractor, timber-man, builds bridges, and that sort of thing. 'Morning, my lord!' says Tom Winch. 'Morning,' says Northaw, as sulky as a bear. 'What do you think of my new horse, my lord?' says Tom Winch. 'Ugly brute,' says Northaw, looking up; 'ugly, wooden-legged brute; _looks as if he'd been made at home_." Burton rose during the laugh that followed his story, and rang the bell. "I must be off," he said; "I've rung to have the phaeton round, Kitty. Charleville, you'll come with me? I can find room for you, Beresford." "No; thanks," said Beresford; "I rode down. Oh, tell them to bring my horse round too," he added to the servant. "Wait five minutes, Charley," said Kate Mellon in an undertone; "let us have a quiet talk after they're gone. I've got something to say to you."