"Oh, it ain't a thing to laugh at, my lad. It's serious," he said, taking off his hat and rubbing his head, exhaling, as he did so, a strong smell of hair-oil. "What is serious?" I said. "Why, that," replied Revitts, "I ain't sure, in a case like that, it oughtn't to be a jury of matrons." "Oh do, pray, hurry him along, Master Antony," cried Mary piteously. "Whatever is the matter with you to-day, William?" "I'm married," he said severely. "And you don't wish you weren't. William, don't say so, please," exclaimed Mary pitifully. "I don't know," said Revitts stolidly. "Go on, Ant'ny." He went on, himself, towards the Vinery, Mary following with me, and looking at me helplessly, as if asking what she should do. The sight of the great bunches of grapes in such enormous numbers seemed to change the course of William Revitts' thoughts, and we went on pretty comfortably for a time, Mary's spirits rising, and her tongue going more freely, but there were no more weak, amiable smiles. At last we entered the palace, and on seeing a light dragoon on duty, Revitts pulled himself together, looked severe, and marched by him, as if belonging to a kindred force; but he stopped to ask questions on the grand staircase, respecting the painted ceilings. "Are them angels, Ant'ny?" he said. "I suppose so," I replied. "Then I don't believe it," he said angrily. "Why, if such evidence was given at Clerkenwell, everybody in the police-court would go into fits, and the reporters would say in the papers, `Loud laughter, which was promptly repressed'! or, `Loud laughter, in which the magistrate joined.'" "Whatever does he mean, Master Antony? I don't know what's come to him to-day," whispered Mary. "Why, that there," said Revitts contemptuously. "Just fancy a witness coming and swearing as the angels in heaven played big fiddles, and things like the conductor blew coming down. The painter must have been a fool." He was better pleased with the arms and armour, stopping to carefully examine a fine old mace. "Yes, that would give a fellow a awful wunner, Ant'ny," he said; "but it would be heavy, and all them pikes and things ain't necessary. A good truncheon properly handled can't be beat." Old furniture, tapestry, and the like had their share of attention, but Revitts hurried me on when I stopped before some of the pictures, shaking his head and nudging me. "I wonder at you, Ant'ny," he whispered. His face was scarlet, and he had not recovered his composure when we reached another room, where a series of portraits made me refer to my guide. "Ladies of Charles the Second's Court," I said, "painted by Sir Peter Lely." "Then he ought to have been ashamed of himself," said Revitts sharply; and drawing Mary's arm through his, he hurried me off, evidently highly disapproving of the style of bodice then in vogue. CHAPTER THIRTY NINE. WILLIAM REVITTS IS ECCENTRIC.