Sir John Bull, equipped with Queasy’s hat, marched deliberately through the defile, bowing with the air of at least an English county member to this side and to that, as way was made for him to his carriage. No one suspected that the hat did not belong to him; no one, indeed, thought of the hat, for all eyes were fixed upon the man. Seated in the carriage, he threw money to the waiter, hostler, and boots, and drew up the glass, bidding the postilions drive on. By this cool self-possession our hero effected his retreat with successful generalship, leaving his new Dublin beaver behind him, without regret, as bona waviata. Queasy, before whose eyes things passed continually without his seeing them, thanked Sir John for the care he had taken of his hat, drew on his gloves, and calculated aloud how long they should be going to the next stage. At the first town they passed through, O’Mooney bought a new hat, and Queasy deplored the unaccountable mistake by which Sir John’s hat had been forgotten. No further _mistakes_ happened upon the journey. The travellers rattled on, and neither ‘stinted nor stayed’ till they arrived at Blackheath, at Miss Sharperson’s. Sir John sat Queasy down without having given him the least hint of his designs upon the lady; but as he helped him out with the Sèvre china, he looked through the large opening double doors of the hall, and slightly said--“Upon my word, this seems to be a handsome house: it would be worth looking at, if the family were not at home.” “I am morally sure, Sir John,” said the soft Queasy, “that Miss Sharperson would be happy to let you see the house tonight, and this minute, if she knew you were at the door, and who you were, and all your civility about me and the china.--Do, pray, walk in.” “Not for the world: a gentleman could not do such a thing without an invitation from the lady of the house herself.” “Oh, if that’s all, I’ll step up myself to the young lady; I’m certain she’ll be proud----” “Mr. Queasy, by no means; I would not have the lady disturbed for the world at this unseasonable hour.--It is too late--quite too late.” “Not at all, begging pardon, Sir John,” said Queasy, taking out his watch: “only just tea-time by me.--Not at all unseasonable for any body; besides, the message is of my own head:--all, you know, if not well taken----” Up the great staircase he made bold to go on his mission, as he thought, in defiance of Sir John’s better judgment. He returned in a few minutes with a face of self-complacent exultation, _and_ Miss Sharperson’s compliments, and begs Sir John Bull will walk up and rest himself with a dish of tea, and has her thanks to him for the china.