“I must say he has made haste,” said Lady Lackington, languidly. “It was only on the eighth or the ninth, I think, he left this, and as he had to get all my mourning things,--I had actually nothing,--and to go down to Lackington Court, and then to Wales, and after that to the Isle of Wight, what with lawyers and other tiresome people to talk to, he has really not done badly.” “I hope he has brought the chalice,” sighed Lady Grace. “I hope he has brought some tidings of my respectable brother-in-law,” said the Viscountess, in a tone that seemed to say where the really important question lay. “And the caviare,--I trust he has not forgotten the caviare. It is the only thing Monsignore eats at breakfast in Advent.” An insolent gesture of the head was all the acknowledgment Lady Lackington vouchsafed to this speech. At last she spoke: “When he can get horse-racing out of his head, Spicer is a very useful creature.” “Very, indeed,” said Lady Grace. “The absurd notion that he is a sporting character is the parent of so many other delusions; he fancies himself affluent, and, stranger still, imagines he's a gentleman.” And the idea so amused her Ladyship that she laughed aloud at it. “Mr. Spicer, my Lady,” said a servant, flinging wide the door; and in a most accurate morning-dress, every detail of which was faultless, that gentleman bowed his way across the room with an amount of eagerness that might possibly exact a shake of the hand, but, if unsuccessful, might easily subside into a colder acceptance. Lady Lackington vouchsafed nothing beyond a faint smile, and the words, “How d'ye do?” as with a slight gesture she motioned to him the precise chair he was to seat himself on. Before taking his place, Mr. Spicer made a formal bow to Lady Grace, who, with a vacant smile, acknowledged the courtesy, and went on with her work. “You have made very tolerable haste, Spicer,” said Lady Lackington. “I scarcely expected you before Saturday.” “I have not been to bed for six nights, my Lady.” “You 'll sleep all the better for it to-night, perhaps.” “We had an awful gale of wind in crossing to Calais,--the passage took eight hours.” “You relished land travelling all the more for it afterwards.” “Not so, my Lady; for at Lyons the whole country was flooded, and we were obliged to march eleven miles afoot on a railway embankment, and under a tremendous storm of rain; but even that was not the worst, for in crossing the St. Bernard--” “I really don't care for such moving accidents; I always skip them in the newspapers. What of my mourning,--is much crape worn?” “A great deal of crape, my Lady, and in 'bouffes' down the dress.” “With bugles or without? I see by your hesitation, sir, you have forgotten about the bugles.” “No, my Lady, I have them,” said he, proudly; “small acorns of Jet are also worn on points of the flounces, and Madame Frontin suggested that, as your Ladyship dislikes black so much--”