'Ah,' said Desvoeux, as if suddenly convinced, 'then perhaps you are even capable of liking Dustypore!' 'Poor Mr. Desvoeux!' said Felicia; 'how sorry you must be to have finished your march, and be back again at stupid Dustypore!' 'No place is stupid where Mrs. Vernon is,' said Desvoeux, gallantly; 'or rather no place would be, if she were not so often "not at home."' 'That must be,' Felicia said, 'because you call on mail-days, when I am busy with my home despatches.' The real truth was that Felicia considered Desvoeux in need of frequent setting down, and closed her door inhospitably against him, whenever he showed the least inclination to be intimate. 'Well,' said Desvoeux, 'the days that you are busy with your despatches and when I have written the Agent's, I do not find it lively, I admit. Come, Mrs. Vernon, the Fotheringhams, for instance--does not the very thought of them leave a sort of damp upon your mind? It makes one shudder.' Then Desvoeux passed on to the other officials, upon whom he poured the most vehement contempt. The Salt Board, he told Maud, always from time immemorial consisted of the three greatest fogies in the Service; that was the traditionary rule; it was only when you were half-idiotic that you could do the work properly. As for Mr. Fotheringham, he was a lucky fellow; his idiocy had developed early and strong. 'That is why Mrs. Vernon detests him so.' 'I don't detest him at all,' said Felicia; 'but I think him rather dull.' 'Yes,' said Desvoeux, with fervour; 'as Dr. Johnson said of some one, he was, no doubt, dull naturally, but he must have taken a great deal of pains to become as dull as he is now. Now, Miss Vernon, would you like to see what the Board is like? First, you must know that I am the Agent's private secretary, and part of my business is to knock his and their heads together and try to get a spark out. That is how I come to know about them. First I will show you how Vernon puts on his air of Under-Secretary and looks at me with a sort of serious, bored, official air, as if he were a bishop and thought I was going to say something impertinent.' 'As I dare say you generally are,' said Felicia, quite prepared to do battle for her husband. 'Well,' said Desvoeux, 'this is how he sits and looks--gravity and fatigue personified.' 'Yes,' cried Maud, clapping her hands with pleasure; 'I can exactly fancy him.' 'Then,' continued Desvoeux, who was really a good mimic and warming rapidly into the work, 'in comes the Board. First Fotheringham, condescending and serene and wishing us all "Good-morning," as if he were the Pope dispensing a blessing. You know his way--like this? Then here is Cockshaw, looking sagacious, but really pondering over his last night's rubber, and wishing the Board were finished.' Felicia was forced to burst out laughing at the imitation. 'And now,' cried Maud, 'give us Mr. Blunt.' Desvoeux put on Blunt's square awkward manner and coughed an imprecatory cough.