"I shall have to lay out a new line of life for myself, I think. I confess I don't see my way to what Emily said the other night about my being constantly with them. She is a very nice girl, and Hawker's a good fellow in his way; but his place is a deuced long way off, and I am getting a little too old to like to be 'braced', as they call it, by that infernally keen air that sweeps over the Yorkshire moors. Besides, they'll be having children, and that kind of thing; and it would be a confounded nuisance to have to be called 'Grandpapa!' Ridiculous position for a man of my appearance! So that, except when they are in town, and one can go to dinner, or to her box at the opera, or that kind of thing, I don't expect I shall see much of them. Grandpapa! by Jove, that would be positively awful!" And the Colonel rises from his seat, and looks at himself in the glass, and poodles his hair, and strokes his moustache, and is eminently satisfied with his appearance. It is in the breakfast-room that the Colonel makes these remarks to himself. Miss Orpington has not yet come down. She has announced by her maid that she has a headache, she supposes from the close atmosphere of the theatre the previous evening, and is taking her breakfast in bed. The Colonel has finished his meal, and is wondering what he will do with himself. He strolls to the window, and looks into the street, which is thick with slush. There has been a little snow early in the morning, and it has melted, as snow does nine times out of ten in London, and has been left to lie where it melted, as it always is in London, and the result is a universal pool of slush and mud, a couple of inches deep. The Colonel shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders, and turns away. He had some notion of going for a ride, but he doesn't see the fun of being splashed up to his eyes, and of having to hold damp and slippery reins with aching fingers. So he thinks he will stroll down to the club and look through the papers, and have a chat with anybody who may be available. At that moment Miss Orpington enters the room. She walks up to her parent, who is standing on the hearthrug, and turning her head, presents to him the lobe of her ear. The Colonel bestows an affectionate embrace on this portion of his daughter's anatomy, and inquires after her headache. He is reassured at hearing it is better. Then Miss Orpington inquires, "Who is the person in the hall?" "Person in the hall!" The Colonel has not the smallest idea. "There is a person in the hall," Miss Orpington avers. "A tradesman-looking person--bootmaker, or something of that kind, she should think from his appearance." Then the Colonel gives a little start, and remembers that something had been said to him about half an hour ago about somebody wishing to see him. The bell is rung, and inquiries are made from the servant about the person in the hall.