* * * CHAPTER I. (_and others_). BOBO began her bloater. "Why the beast has a hard roe!" she cried. "COKALEEK, you shall have the roe;" and she dropped it into his tea before he could object. "You're not eating any breakfast. Put the mustard-spoon in his mouth, BILL, if he insists upon keeping it wide open while he stares at me. Ain't I fascinating this morning? Why the devil don't you notice the new feather in my hat? I always wear feathers when I'm going out clubbing, because I plume myself upon being smart. Here, somebody see if my spur's screwed on all right." "I wish your head was screwed on half as well," said BILL, as BOBO planted her handsome Pinet boot, No. 31z, on the breakfast-table. COKALEEK looked on and smiled, with his mouth still open. It was all he had to do in life. He had married her because she was BOBO; and the more she out-Bobo'd BOBO, the better she pleased him. He was a marquis, and a millionaire, but he had only one drawing-room at his country-seat; and the smoking-room was upstairs--obviously because there was no room for it on the ground-floor. And there was only one piano in the house, at which BOBO'S gifted young friend, SALLIE RENGAW, was engaged in the early morning, picking out an original funeral march with one finger, and throwing breakfast-eggs about in the fury of inspiration. An _oeuf à la coque_ came flying across the passage at this moment, through the open door of the dining-room, and hit BILL SPLINTER on the nose. BILL was COKALEEK'S first-cousin, and heir-presumptive; in love, _pour le bon motif_, with BOBO. "You should always give SALLIE poached eggs," he remonstrated, holding his nose; "they make a worse mess when she pitches them about, but they only hurt the furniture." "Does she always chuck eggs?" asked COKALEEK, mildly. It was BOBO'S first autumn at Cokaleek House, and the Marquis wasn't used to the ways of her gifted friends. She had another friend, besides the musical lady, a Miss MIRANDA SKEGGS, whose conversation was like a bad dream; and these two, with BILL SPLINTER, were the house-party. COKALEEK, waking suddenly from an after-dinner nap, used to think he was in Hanwell. "She chucks anything," answered BOBO; "kidneys, chops, devilled bones. How can she help it? That's the divine afflatus." "It _sounds_ like ta-ra-ra-boomdeay," said COKALEEK, who thought his wife meant the melody that SALLIE'S muscular forefinger was thumping out on the concert-grand. "Come, come along, every manjack of you!" shrieked SALLIE, from the other side of the passage. "Ain't this glorious? Ain't it majestic? Don't it bang BEETHOVEN, and knock SULLIVAN into a cocked-hat? Hark at this! Ta-ra-ra! _largo_, for the hautboys and first fiddles. Boom! cornets and ophicleides. De----ay! bassoons, double-basses, and minute-guns on the big drum. There's a funeral march for you! With my learned orchestration it will be as good as SEBASTIAN BACH."