"There may be as good as him come yet, Mrs. Duffer. I don't think so much of their having horses and grooms. When they have these things they can't afford to have wives too,--and sometimes they can't afford to pay for either." Then, having seen the last of Lord Hampstead as he rode out of the Row, she went back to her mother's house. But Mrs. Demijohn had been making use of her time while Clara and Mrs. Duffer had been wasting theirs in mere gazing, and making vain surmises. As soon as she found herself alone the old woman got her bonnet and shawl, and going out slily into the Row, made her way down to the end of the street in the direction opposite to that in which the groom was at that moment walking the horses. There she escaped the eyes of her niece and of the neighbours, and was enabled to wait unseen till the man, in his walking, came down to the spot at which she was standing. "My young man," she said in her most winning voice, when the groom came near her. "What is it, Mum?" "You'd like a glass of beer, wouldn't you;--after walking up and down so long?" "No, I wouldn't, not just at present." He knew whom he served, and from whom it would become him to take beer. "I'd be happy to pay for a pint," said Mrs. Demijohn, fingering a fourpenny bit so that he might see it. "Thankye, Mum; no, I takes it reg'lar when I takes it. I'm on dooty just at present." "Your master's horses, I suppose?" "Whose else, Mum? His lordship don't ride generally nobody's 'orses but his own." Here was a success! And the fourpenny bit saved! His lordship! "Of course not," said Mrs. Demijohn. "Why should he?" "Why, indeed, Mum?" "Lord--; Lord--;--Lord who, is he?" The groom poked up his hat, and scratched his head, and bethought himself. A servant generally wishes to do what honour he can to his master. This man had no desire to gratify an inquisitive old woman, but he thought it derogatory to his master and to himself to seem to deny their joint name. "'Ampstead!" he said, looking down very serenely on the lady, and then moved on, not wasting another word. "I knew all along they were something out of the common way," said Mrs. Demijohn as soon as her niece came in. "You haven't found out who it is, aunt?" "You've been with Mrs. Duffer, I suppose. You two'd put your heads together for a week, and then would know nothing." It was not till quite the last thing at night that she told her secret. "He was a peer! He was Lord 'Ampstead!" "A peer!" "He was Lord 'Ampstead, I tell you," said Mrs. Demijohn. "I don't believe there is such a lord," said Clara, as she took herself up to bed. CHAPTER VII. THE POST OFFICE.