“Oh, no, sir--this is not her carriage at all--she is not here. That is, she is here, in Ireland; but down in the county of Wicklow, on a visit. And this is not her own carriage at all;--that is to say, not that which she has with herself, driving; but only just the cast barouche like, as she keeps for the lady’s maids.” “For the lady’s maids! that is good! that is new, faith! Sir James, do you hear that?” “Indeed, then, and it’s true, and not a word of a lie!” said the honest landlord. “And this minute, we’ve got a directory of five of them Abigails, sitting within our house; as fine ladies, as great dashers too, every bit, as their principals; and kicking up as much dust on the road, every grain!--Think of them, now! The likes of them, that must have four horses, and would not stir a foot with one less!--As the gentleman’s gentleman there was telling and boasting to me about now, when the barouche was ordered for them there at the lady’s house, where Lady Dashfort is on a visit--they said they would not get in till they’d get four horses; and their ladies backed them; and so the four horses was got; and they just drove out here to see the points of view for fashion’s sake, like their betters; and up with their glasses, like their ladies; and then out with their watches, and ‘Isn’t it time to lunch?’ So there they have been lunching within on what they brought with them; for nothing in our house could they touch of course! They brought themselves a _pick-nick_ lunch, with Madeira and Champagne to wash it down. Why, gentlemen, what do you think, but a set of them, as they were bragging to me, turned out of a boarding-house at Cheltenham, last year, because they had not peach pies to their lunch!--But, here they come! shawls, and veils, and all!--streamers flying! But mum is my cue!--Captain, are these girths to your fancy now?” said the landlord, aloud: then, as he stooped to alter a buckle, he said in a voice meant to be heard only by Captain Bowles, “If there’s a tongue, male or female, in the three kingdoms, it’s in that foremost woman, Mrs. Petito.” “Mrs. Petito!” repeated Lord Colambre, as the name caught his ear; and, approaching the barouche, in which the five Abigails were now seated, he saw the identical Mrs. Petito, who, when he left London, had been in his mother’s service. She recognized his lordship with very gracious intimacy; and, before he had time to ask any questions, she answered all she conceived he was going to ask, and with a volubility which justified the landlord’s eulogium of her tongue.