without flattery, Mr.-a-What-d’ye-call-’im?”

“Indeed, ma’am, I never should,” I answered, for the old lady was as ugly as possible; and at my saying this the two young ladies began screaming with laughter, and I saw the two great-whiskered footmen grinning over the back of the carriage.

“Upon my word, you’re mighty candid, Mr. What’s-your-name—mighty candid indeed; but I like candour in young people.  But a beauty I was.  Just ask your friend’s uncle the General.  He’s one of the Lincolnshire Hoskinses—I knew he was by the strong family likeness.  Is he the eldest son?  It’s a pretty property, though sadly encumbered; for old Sir George was the divvle of a man—a friend of Hanbury Williams, and Lyttleton, and those horrid, monstrous, ojous people!  How much will he have now, mister, when the Admiral dies?”

“Why, ma’am, I can’t say; but the Admiral is not my friend’s father.”

“Not his father?—but he is, I tell you, and I’m never wrong.  Who is his father, then?”

“Ma’am, Gus’s father’s a leatherseller in Skinner Street, Snow Hill,—a very respectable house, ma’am.  But Gus is only third son, and so can’t expect a great share in the property.”

The two young ladies smiled at this—the old lady said, “Hwat?”

“I like you, sir,” Lady Jane said, “for not being ashamed of your friends, whatever their rank of life may be.  Shall we have the pleasure of setting you down anywhere, Mr. Titmarsh?”

“Noways particular, my Lady,” says I.  “We have a holiday at our office to-day—at least Roundhand gave me and Gus leave; and I shall be very happy, indeed, to take a drive in the Park, if it’s no offence.”

“I’m sure it will give us—infinite pleasure,” said Lady Jane; though rather in a grave way.

“Oh, that it will!” says Lady Fanny, clapping her hands: “won’t it, Grandmamma?  And after we have been in the Park, we can walk in Kensington Gardens, if Mr. Titmarsh will be good enough to accompany us.”

“Indeed, Fanny, we will do no such thing,” says Lady Jane.

“Indeed, but we will though!” shrieked out Lady Drum.  “Ain’t I dying to know everything about his uncle and thirteen aunts? and you’re all chattering so, you young women, that not a blessed syllable will you allow me or my young friend here to speak.”

Lady Jane gave a shrug with her shoulders, and did not say a single word more.  Lady Fanny, who was as gay as a young kitten (if I may be allowed so to speak of the aristocracy), laughed, and blushed, and giggled, and seemed quite to enjoy her sister’s ill-humour.  And the Countess began at once, and entered into the history of the thirteen Misses Hoggarty, which was not near finished when we entered the Park.

When there, you can’t think what hundreds of gents on horseback came to the carriage and talked to the ladies.  They had their joke for Lady Drum, who seemed to be a character in her way; their bow for Lady Jane; and, the young ones especially, their compliment for Lady Fanny.

Though she bowed and blushed, as a young lady should, Lady Fanny seemed to be thinking of something else; for she kept her head out of the carriage, looking eagerly among the horsemen, as if she expected to see somebody.  Aha! my Lady Fanny, I knew what it meant when a young pretty lady like you was absent, and on the look-out, and only half answered the questions put to her.  Let alone Sam Titmarsh—he knows what Somebody means as well as another, I warrant.  As I saw these manoeuvres going on, I could not help just giving a wink to Lady Jane, as much as to say I knew what was what.  “I guess the young lady is looking for Somebody,” says I.  It was then her turn to look queer, I assure you, and she blushed as red as scarlet; but, after a minute, the good-natured little thing looked at her sister, and both the young ladies put their handkerchiefs up to their faces, and began laughing—laughing as if I had said the funniest thing in the world.

“Il est charmant, votre monsieur,” said Lady Jane to her grandmamma; and on which I bowed, and said, “Madame, vous me faites beaucoup d’honneur:” for I know the French language, and was pleased to find that these good ladies had taken a liking to me.  “I’m a poor humble lad, ma’am, not used to London society, and do really feel it quite kind of you to take me by the hand so, and give me a drive in your fine carriage.”

At this minute a gentleman on a black horse, with a pale face and a tuft to his chin, came riding up to the carriage; and I knew by a little start that Lady Fanny gave, and by her instantly looking round the other way, that Somebody was come at last.

“Lady Drum,” said he, “your most devoted servant!  I have just been riding with a gentleman who almost shot himself for love of the beautiful Countess of Drum in the year—never mind the year.”

“Was it Killblazes?” said the lady: “he’s a dear old man, and I’m quite ready to go off with him this minute.  Or was it that delight of an old bishop?  He’s got a lock of my hair now—I gave it him when he was Papa’s chaplain; and let me tell you it would be a hard matter to find another now in the same place.”

“Law, my Lady!” says I, “you don’t say so?”

“But indeed I do, my good sir,” says she; “for between ourselves, my head’s as bare as a cannon-ball—ask Fanny if it isn’t.  Such a fright as the poor thing got when she was a babby, and came upon me suddenly in my dressing-room without my wig!”

“I hope Lady Fanny has recovered from the shock,” said “Somebody,” looking first at her, and then at me as if he had a mind to swallow me.  And would you believe it? all that Lady Fanny could say was, “Pretty well, I thank you, my Lord;” and she said this with as much fluttering and blushing as we used to say our Virgil at school—when we hadn’t learned it.

My Lord still kept on looking very fiercely at me, and muttered something about having hoped to find a seat in Lady Drum’s carriage, as he was tired of riding; on which Lady Fanny muttered something, too, about “a friend of Grandmamma’s.”

“You should say a friend of yours, Fanny,” says Lady Jane: “I am sure we should never have come to the Park if Fanny had not insisted upon bringing Mr. Titmarsh hither.  Let me introduce the Earl of Tiptoff to Mr. Titmarsh.”  But, instead of taking off his hat, as I did mine, his Lordship growled out that he hoped for another opportunity, and galloped off again on his black horse.  Why the deuce I should have offended him I never could understand.

But it seemed as if I was destined to offend all the men that day; for who should presently come up but the Right Honourable Edmund Preston, one of His Majesty’s Secretaries of State (as I know very well by the almanac in our office) and the husband of Lady Jane.

The Right Honourable Edmund was riding a grey cob, and was a fat pale-faced man, who looked as if he never went into the open air.  “Who the devil’s that?” said he to his wife, looking surlily both at me and her.

“Oh, it’s a friend of Grandmamma’s and Jane’s,” said Lady Fanny at once, looking, like a sly rogue as she was, quite archly at her sister—who in her turn appeared quite frightened, and looked imploringly at her sister, and never dared to breathe a syllable.  “Yes, indeed,” continued Lady Fanny, “Mr. Titmarsh is a cousin of Grandmamma’s by the mother’s side: by the Hoggarty side.  Didn’t you know the Hoggarties when you were in Ireland, Edmund, with Lord Bagwig?  Let me introduce you to Grandmamma’s cousin, Mr. Titmarsh: Mr. Titmarsh, my brother, Mr. Edmund Preston.”

There was Lady Jane all the time treading upon her sister’s foot as hard as possible, and the little wicked thing would take no notice; and I, who had never heard of the cousinship, feeling as confounded as could be.  But I did