He waved his stick in the air—­they had met on the common—­and the lame donkey, who had strayed companionably near them, took to his heels in fright.

“Even the donkey,” said Zora, “Mr. Dix’s most intimate friend, doesn’t agree with you.”

“The ass will agree with the sage only in the millennium,” said Rattenden.

But Zora was not satisfied with the professional philosopher’s presentation of the affair.  She sought Wiggleswick, whom she found before a blazing fire in the sitting-room, his feet on the mantelpiece, smoking a Havana cigar.  On her approach he wriggled to attention, and extinguishing the cigar by means of saliva and a horny thumb and forefinger, put the stump into his pocket.

“Good morning, Wiggleswick,” said Zora cheerfully.

“Good morning, ma’am,” said Wiggleswick.

“You seem to be having a good time.”

Wiggleswick gave her to understand that, thanks to his master’s angelic disposition and his own worthiness, he always had a good time.

“Now that he’s married there will have to be a few changes in household arrangements,” said Zora.

“What changes?”

“There will be a cook and parlor maid and regular hours, and a mistress to look after things.”

Wiggleswick put his cunning gray head on one side.

“I’m sure they’ll make me very comfortable, ma’am.  If they do the work, I won’t raise no manner of objection.”

Zora, regarding the egoist with mingled admiration and vexedness, could only say, “Oh!”

“I never raised no objection to his marriage from the first,” said Wiggleswick.

“Did he consult you about it?”

“Of course he did,” he replied with an indulgent smile, while the light of sportive fancy gleamed behind his blear eyes.  “He looks on me as a father, he does, ma’am.  ‘Wiggleswick,’ says he, ‘I’m going to be married.’  ’I’m delighted to hear it, sir,’ says I.  ’A man needs a woman’s ‘and about him,’ says I.”

“When did he tell you this?”

Wiggleswick searched his inventive memory.

“About a fortnight ago.  ‘If I may be so bold, sir, who is the young lady?’ I asks.  ‘It’s Miss Emily Oldrieve,’ says he, and I said, ’A nicer, brighter, prettier bit of goods’—­I beg your pardon, ma’am—­’young lady, you couldn’t pick up between here and Houndsditch.’  I did say that, ma’am, I tell you straight.”  He looked at her keenly to see whether this expression of loyal admiration of his new mistress had taken effect, and then continued.  “And then he says to me, ’Wiggleswick, there ain’t going to be no grand wedding.  You know me.’—­And I does, ma’am.  The outlandish things he does, ma’am, would shock an alligator.—­’I should forget the day,’ says he.  ’I should lose the ring.  I should marry the wrong party.  I should forget to kiss the bridesmaids.  Lord knows what I shouldn’t do.  So we’re going up to London to be married on the Q.T., and don’t you say nothing to nobody.”