Whereupon Mr. Simnel gave a louder whistle, and said, "Tell!" "You know how I stand, Simnel, well enough," said Mr. Beresford; "and this looked a very safe _coup_, I thought, specially after I got your telegram. There were two or three fellows staying down at Bissett who I thought were on, too. Man named Lyster; do you know him?--tall man, dark beard, yaw-haw beast, from Indian army." "I know him!" was all Mr. Simnel's reply to this flattering sketch. "And another man, newspaper man, belongs to the 'Retrenchment' and the 'Fly-by-night;' Churchill, you know." "_I_ know Churchill. Was he going in for an heiress?" "No, not exactly; at least I thought so, but it turned out not. But I didn't like these fellows hanging about; specially Lyster--romantic party, sigh and that sort of business. So, when I found from you it was all right, I made up my mind to see where I was." "Well; and Miss Townshend wouldn't have it?" "Not at all! We were sitting after dinner, when the women had gone to the drawing-room, the very day I got your telegram, and old Wentworth told us there was a man coming down the next day,--Schrötter, or Schröder, a German merchant in Mincing Lane--" "I know him," interrupted Simnel: "Gustav Schröder; elderly man. What took him to Bissett?" "Love, sir--love! he's engaged to be married to Miss Townshend!" "Whew!" said Mr. Simnel, with his longest and shrillest whistle. "The deuce he is! That _is_ news! How does the young lady like it?" "Well, not much. She couldn't, of course, be expected to feel very enthusiastic about a short, stout, gray-headed German, who talks the most infernal jargon, and hasn't got a sound tooth in his head. Took him out shooting once, but he made the most awful mess of it; devilish near shot the beaters, and sprained his ankle leaping a half-foot ditch. The girl seemed horribly ashamed of him, and of his clumsy compliments and elephantine gambols; but she's evidently booked--her father takes care of that." "Ah, ha!" said Mr. Simnel, nursing his knee, rocking himself to and fro, and rapidly going off into an absent fit; "ah, ha!" "I hate to hear you say 'ah, ha,' Simnel!" said Mr. Beresford, with some asperity. "You're always up to some plottings and plans when you utter those seemingly benevolent grunts. I suppose you suspect old Townshend of some grand _diablerie_ in this affair. I never could make out what it is that you know about that old gentleman."