Andrew flew into such a rage that he committed an assault on the man. So ungovernable was his passion, that for some minutes Harriet’s measured voice summoned him from over the banisters above, quite in vain. The miserable Englishman refused to be taught that his house had ceased to be his castle. It was something beyond a joke, this! The intruder, perfectly docile, seeing that by accurate calculation every shake he got involved a bottle of wine for him, and ultimate compensation probably to the amount of a couple of sovereigns, allowed himself to be lugged up stairs, in default of summary ejection on the point of Andrew’s toe into the street. There he was faced to the lady of the house, who apologized to him, and requested her husband to state what had made him guilty of this indecent behaviour. The man showed his papers. They were quite in order. “At the suit of Messrs. Grist.” “My own lawyers!” cried Andrew, smacking his forehead; and Old Tom’s devilry flashed on him at once. He sank into a chair. “Why did you bring this person up here?” said Harriet, like a speaking statue. “My dear!” Andrew answered, and spread out his hand, and waggled his head; “My—please!—I—I don’t know. We all want exercise.” The man laughed, which was kindly of him, but offensive to Mrs. Cogglesby, who gave Andrew a glance which was full payment for his imbecile pleasantry, and promised more. With a hospitable inquiry as to the condition of his appetite, and a request that he would be pleased to satisfy it to the full, the man was dismissed: whereat, as one delivered of noxious presences, the Countess rustled into sight. Not noticing Andrew, she lisped to Harriet: “Misfortunes are sometimes no curses! I bless the catarrh that has confined Silva to his chamber, and saved him from a bestial exhibition.” The two ladies then swept from the room, and left Andrew to perspire at leisure. Fresh tribulations awaited him when he sat down to dinner. Andrew liked his dinner to be comfortable, good, and in plenty. This may not seem strange. The fact is stated that I may win for him the warm sympathies of the body of his countrymen. He was greeted by a piece of cold boiled neck of mutton and a solitary dish of steaming potatoes. The blank expanse of table-cloth returned his desolate stare. “Why, what’s the meaning of this?” Andrew brutally exclaimed, as he thumped the table. The Countess gave a start, and rolled a look as of piteous supplication to spare a lady’s nerves, addressed to a ferocious brigand. Harriet answered: “It means that I will have no butcher’s bills.” “Butcher’s bills! butcher’s bills!” echoed Andrew; “why, you must have butcher’s bills; why, confound! why, you’ll have a bill for this, won’t you, Harry? eh? of course!” “There will be no more bills dating from yesterday,” said his wife. “What! this is paid for, then?” “Yes, Mr. Cogglesby; and so will all household expenses be, while my pocket-money lasts.”