“Nay, nay,” said the daughter (young people are always the first to defend), “I’m sure he’s not proud: he does a mort of good, and has the sweetest smile possible! I wonder if he’ll marry again! He is very young yet, not above two or three and thirty.” (The kind damsel would not have thought two or three and thirty very young some years ago; but we grow wonderfully indulgent to the age of other people as we grow older ourselves!) “And what an eye he has!” said the landlady. “Well, for my part,--but, bless me. Here, John, John, John, waiter, husband I mean,--here’s a carriage and four at the door. Lizzy, dear, is my cap right?” And mother, daughter, and husband all flocked, charged with simper, courtesy, and bow, to receive their expected guests. With a disappointment which we who keep not inns can but very imperfectly conceive, the trio beheld a single personage,--a valet, descend from the box, open the carriage door, and take out--a desk! Of all things human, male or female, the said carriage was utterly empty. The valet bustled up to the landlady: “My master’s here, ma’am, I think; rode on before!” “And who is your master?” asked Mrs. Merrylack, a thrill of alarm, and the thought of No. 4, coming across her at the same time. “Who!” said the valet, rubbing his hands; “who!--why, Clarence Talbot Linden, Esq., of Scarsdale Park, county of York, late Secretary of Legation at the court of ----, now M.P., and one of his Majesty’s Under Secretaries of State.” “Mercy upon us!” cried the astounded landlady, “and No. 4! only think of it. Run, John,--John,--run, light a fire (the night’s cold, I think) in the Elephant, No. 16; beg the gentleman’s pardon; say it was occupied till now; ask what he’ll have for dinner,--fish, flesh, fowl, steaks, joints, chops, tarts; or, if it’s too late (but it’s quite early yet; you may put back the day an hour or so), ask what he’ll have for supper; run, John, run: what’s the oaf staying for? run, I tell you! Pray, sir, walk in (to the valet, our old friend Mr. Harrison)--you’ll be hungry after your journey, I think; no ceremony, I beg.” “He’s not so handsome as his master,” said Miss Elizabeth, glancing at Harrison discontentedly; “but he does not look like a married man, somehow. I’ll just step up stairs and change my cap: it would be but civil if the gentleman’s gentleman sups with us.”