“Not legally--not a chance of it; but I think I 'll make a noble lord of our acquaintance disgorge something handsome. I don't mean to press any claim of my own. If he behaves politely, and asks me to dine, and treats me like a gentleman, I 'll not be over hard with him. I like the--not the conveniences--that's not the word, but the----” “'Convenances,' perhaps,” interposed Ellen. “That's it--the convenances. I like the attentions that seem to say, 'T. C. is n't to be kept in a tunnel or a cutting, but is good company at table, with long-necked bottles beside him. T. C. can be talked to about the world: about pale sherry, and pretty women, and the delights of Homburg, and the odds on the Derby; he's as much at home at Belgravia as on an embankment.'” “I suspect there will be few to dispute that,” said Augustus, solemnly. “Not when they knows it, Bramleigh; 'not when they knows it,' as the cabbies say. The thing is to make them know it, to make them feel it. There 's a rough-and-ready way of putting all men like myself, who take liberties with the letter H, down as snobs; but you see there 's snobs and snobs. There 's snobs that are only snobs; there 's snobs that have nothing distinctive about them but their snobbery, and there 's snobs so well up in life, so shrewd, such downright keen men of the world, that their snobbery is only an accident, like a splash from a passing 'bus; and, in fact, their snobbery puts a sort of accent on their acuteness, just like a trade-mark, and tells you it was town-made--no bad thing, Bramleigh, when that town calls itself London!” If Augustus vouchsafed little approval of this speech, Ellen smiled an apparent concurrence, while in reality it was the man's pretension and assurance that amused her. “You ain't as jolly as you used to be; how is that?” said Cutbill, shaking Bramleigh jocosely by the arm. “I suspect you are disposed, like Jeremiah, to a melancholy line of life?” “I was not aware, sir, that my spirits could be matter of remark,” said Augustus, haughtily. “And why not? You're no highness, royal or serene, that one is obliged to accept any humor you may be in, as the right thing. You are one of _us_, I take it.” “A very proud distinction,” said he, gravely. “Well, if it's nothing to crow, it's nothing to cry for! If the world had nothing but top-sawyers, Bramleigh, there would be precious little work done. Is that clock of yours, yonder, right--is it so late as that?” “I believe so,” said Augustus, looking at his watch. “I want exactly ten minutes to four.” “And the train starts at four precisely. That's so like me. I 've lost my train, all for the sake of paying a visit to people who wished me at the North Pole for my politeness.” “Oh, Mr. Cutbill,” said Ellen, deprecatingly. “I hope, Mr. Cutbill, we are fully sensible of the courtesy that suggested your call.”