“In the garden? Oh, she does not jump off her down-bed on to a flowerbed. She had been an hour at work on that face before ever the sun or you got leave to look on it.” “I'll stake my head I tell her age within a year, Mr. Bazalgette.” “No you will not, nor within ten years.” “That is soon seen. I call her one-and-twenty.” “One-and-twenty! You are mad! Why, she has had a child that would be fifteen now if it had lived.” “Miss Lucy? A child? Fifteen years? What on earth do you mean?” “What do _you_ mean? What has Miss Lucy to do with it? You know very well it is MY WIFE I am warning you against, not that innocent girl.” At this David burst out in his turn. “YOUR WIFE! and have you so vile an opinion of me as to think I would eat your bread and tempt your wife under your roof. Oh, Mr. Bazalgette, is this the esteem you profess for me?” “Go to the Devil!” shouted Bazalgette, in double ire at his own blunder and at being taken to task by his own Telemachus; he added, but in a very different tone, “You are too good for this world.” The best things we say miss fire in conversation; only second-rate shots hit the mind through the ear. This, we will suppose, is why David derived no amusement or delectation from Mr. Bazalgette's inadvertent but admirable _bon-mot._ “Go to the Devil! you are too good for this world.” He merely rose, and said gravely, “Heaven forgive you your unjust suspicions, and God bless you for your other kindness. Good-by!” “Why, where on earth are you going?” “To stow away my things; to pack up, as they call it.” “Come back! come back! why, what a terrible fellow you are; you make no allowances for metaphors. There, forgive me, and shake hands. Now sit down. I esteem you more than ever. You have come down from another age and a much better one than this. Now let us be calm, quiet, sensible, tranquil. Hallo!” (starting up in agitation), “a sudden light bursts on me. You are in love, and not with my wife; then it is my ward.” “It is too late to deny it, sir.” “That is far more serious than the other,” said Bazalgette, very gravely; “the old one would have been sure to cure you of your fancy for her, soon or late, but Lucy! Now, just look at that young buffer's eyes glaring at us like a pair of saucers.” “I am not listening, papa; I haven't heard a word you and Mr. Dodd have said about naughty ladies. I have been such a good boy, minding my puzzle.” “I wish he may not have been minding ours instead,” muttered his sire, and rang the bell, and ordered the servant to take away Master Reginald and bring coffee. The pair sipped their coffee in dead silence. It was broken at last by David saying sadly and a little bitterly, “I fear, sir, your good opinion of me does not go the length of letting me come into your family.”