"How came you to send him to her?" His anger against Manasseh resurged under his wife's peevishness. "My dear," he cried, "I did not send him anywhere--except to the devil." "Joseph! You might keep such language for the ears of creatures in sedan chairs." And Mrs. Grobstock flounced out of the room with a rustle of angry satin. When Wilkinson reappeared, limp and tired, with his pompousness exuded in perspiration, he sought his master with a message, which he delivered ere the flood of interrogation could burst from Grobstock's lips. "Mr. da Costa presents his compliments, and says that he has decided on reconsideration not to break his promise to be with you on Friday evening." "Oh, indeed!" said Grobstock grimly. "And, pray, how came you to carry his box?" "You told me to, sir!" "_I_ told you!" "I mean he told me you told me to," said Wilkinson wonderingly. "Didn't you?" Grobstock hesitated. Since Manasseh _would_ be his guest, was it not imprudent to give him away to the livery-servant? Besides, he felt a secret pleasure in Wilkinson's humiliation--but for the _Schnorrer_ he would never have known that Wilkinson's gold lace concealed a pliable personality. The proverb "Like master like man" did not occur to Grobstock at this juncture. "I only meant you to carry it to a coach," he murmured. "He said it was not worth while--the distance was so short." "Ah! Did you see his house?" enquired Grobstock curiously. "Yes; a very fine house in Aldgate, with a handsome portico and two stone lions." Grobstock strove hard not to look surprised. "I handed the box to the footman." Grobstock strove harder. Wilkinson ended with a weak smile: "Would you believe, sir, I thought at first he brought home your fish! He dresses so peculiarly. He must be an original." "Yes, yes; an eccentric like Baron D'Aguilar, whom he visits," said Grobstock eagerly. He wondered, indeed, whether he was not speaking the truth. Could he have been the victim of a practical joke, a prank? Did not a natural aristocracy ooze from every pore of his mysterious visitor? Was not every tone, every gesture, that of a man born to rule? "You must remember, too," he added, "that he is a Spaniard." "Ah, I see," said Wilkinson in profound accents. "I daresay he dresses like everybody else, though, when he dines or sups out," Grobstock added lightly. "I only brought him in by accident. But go to your mistress! She wants you." "Yes, sir. Oh, by the way, I forgot to tell you he hopes you will save him a slice of his salmon." "Go to your mistress!" "You did not tell me a Spanish nobleman was coming to us on Friday," said his spouse later in the evening. "No," he admitted curtly. "But is he?" "No--at least, not a nobleman." "What then? I have to learn about my guests from my servants." "Apparently." "Oh! and you think that's right!" "To gossip with your servants? Certainly not." "If my husband will not tell me anything--if he has only eyes for sedan chairs."