“My chief question is, however, still to be answered. On what pretext does he bring him here?” said Jack, with unbroken good humor. “As to that,” broke in Augustus, “Lord Culduff's note is perfectly explanatory; he says his friend is travelling with him; they came here on a matter of business, and, in fact, there would be an awkwardness on his part in separating from him, and on ours, if we did not prevent such a contingency.” “Quite so,” chimed in Temple. “Nothing could be more guarded or courteous than Lord Culduff's reply. It was n't in the least like an Admiralty minute, Jack, or an order to Commander Spiggins, of the 'Snarler,' to take in five hundred firkins of pork.” “I might say, now, that you 'll not find that name in the Navy list, Temple,” said the sailor, laughing. “Do they arrive to-day?” asked Marion, not a little uncomfortable at this exchange of tart things. “To dinner,” said Temple. “I suppose we have seen the last leg of mutton we are to meet with till he goes,” cried Jack: “that precious French fellow will now give his genius full play, and we 'll have to dine off 'salmis' and 'suprêmes,' or make our dinner off bread-and-cheese.” “Perhaps you would initiate Bertond into the mystery of a sea-pie, Jack,” said Temple, with a smile. “And a precious mess the fellow would make of it! He'd fill it with cocks' combs and mushrooms, and stick two skewers in it with a half-boiled truffle on each--lucky if there would n't be a British flag in spun sugar between them; and he 'd call the abomination 'pâté à la gun-room,' or some such confounded name.” A low, quiet laugh was now heard from the end of the table, and the company remembered, apparently for the first time, that Mr. Harding, the agent, was there, and very busily engaged with a broiled chicken. “Ain't I right, Mr. Harding?” cried Jack, as he heard the low chuckle of the small, meek, submissive-looking little man, at the other end of the table. “Ain't I right?” “I have met with very good French versions of English cookery abroad, Captain Bramleigh.” “Don't call me 'captain' or I 'll suspect your accuracy about the cookery,” interrupted Jack. “I fear I 'm about as far off that rank as Bertond is from the sea-pie.” “Do you know Cutbill, Harding?” said Augustus, addressing the agent in the tone of an heir expectant. “Yes. We were both examined in the same case before a committee of the House, and I made his acquaintance then.” “What sort of person is he?” asked Temple. “Is he jolly, Mr. Harding?--that's the question,” cried Jack. “I suspect we shall be overborne by greatness, and a jolly fellow would be a boon from heaven.” “I believe he is what might be called jolly,” said Harding, cautiously. “Jolly sounds like a familiar word for vulgar,” said Marion. “I hope Mr. Harding does not mean that.”