“You flatter me.”

“Upon my honour, no.”

“Well, I can return the compliment; for a blue, with chased buttons and silk lining, you beat anything I ever had the honour of meeting.  But I suppose, as you are here, you are not the Cornet now?”

“Alas! no.”

“May I ask why?”

“Certainly.  His scoundrel of a valet disgraced his master’s cloth and me at the same time.  The villain went to the Lowther Arcade—­took me with him by force.  Fancy my agony; literally accessory to handing ices to milliners’ apprentices and staymakers; and when the wretch commenced quadrilling it, he dos-a-dos’d me up against a fat soap-boiler’s wife, in filthy three-turned-and-dyed common satin.”

“Scoundrel!”

“Rascal!  But he was discovered—­he reeled home drunk. I, that is, as it’s known, we make the men.  The Cornet saw him, and thrashed him soundly with a three-foot Crowther.”

“That must have been delightful to your feelings.”

“Not very.”

“Why not? revenge is sweet.”

“So it is; but as the Cornet forgot to order him to take me off, I got the worst of the drubbing.  I was dreadfully cut about.  Two buttons fearfully lacerated—­nothing but the shanks left.”

“How did it end?”

“The valet mentioned something about wages and assault warrants, so I was given to him to make the matter up.  Between you and I, the Cornet was very hard up.”

“Indeed!”

“Certain of it.  You remember the French-grey trousers we used to walk out with—­those he strapped so tight over the remarkably chatty and pleasant French-polished boots whose broken English we used to admire so much?”

“Of course I do; they were the most charming greys I ever met.  They beat the plaids into fits; and the plaids were far from ungentlemanly, only they would always talk with a sham Scotch accent, and quote the ’Cotter’s Saturday Night.’”

“Certainly that was a drawback.  But to return to our friends, and the Cornet’s friends, they must have been bad, for those very greys were seated.”

“Impossible!”

“Fact, I assure you.  My tails were pinned over the patch for three weeks.”

“How did they bear it?”

“Shockingly.  A general break up of the constitution—­went all to pieces.  First, decay appeared in the brace buttons; then the straps got out of order.  They did say it was owing to the heels of the French-polished boots going down on one side, but the boots would never admit it.”

“How did you get here?”

“I came from the Bench for eggs and bacon for the Cornet and his Valet’s breakfast!  What brought you?”

“The Count’s landlady, for a week’s rent.”

“What did you fetch?”

“A guinea!”

“Bless me, you must have worn well.”

“No; hold your tongue—­I think I shall die with laughing,—­ha! ha!—­When they took me in, I returned the compliment.  I’ve been—­”