“But a wooden leg—­” began Mr. Stevens dubiously.

“I said ‘limb’, sir!” said Mr. Brimberly, his whiskers distinctly agitated, “a cork limb, sir!  And Lord bless me, a cork limb ain’t to be sniffed at contemptuous when it brings haffluence with it, sir!  At least, my sentiments leans that way.”

“Oh—­ditto, certainly, sir!  I’d take haffluence to my ’eart if she came with both le—­both of ’em cork, if it meant haffluence like this!” Mr. Stevens let his pale, prominent eyes wander slowly around the luxuriant splendour of the room.  “My eye!” he exclaimed, “it’s easy to see as your governor don’t have to bother about marrying money, cork limbs or otherwise!  Very rich, ain’t ’e, Mr. Brimberly?”

Mr. Brimberly set down the decanter he chanced to be holding, and having caressed each fluffy whisker, smiled.

“I think, sir,” said he gently, “y-es, I think we may answer ‘yes’ to your latter question.  I think we may tell you and admit ’ole-’earted and frank, sir, that the Ravenslee fortune is fab’lous, sir, stoopendious and himmense!”

“Oh, Lord!” exclaimed Mr. Stevens, and his pale eyes, much wider, now wandered up from the Persian rug beneath his boots to the elaborately carved ceiling above his head.  “My aunt!” he murmured.

“Oh, I think we’re fairly comfortable ’ere, sir,” nodded Mr. Brimberly complacently, “yes, fairly comfortable, I think.”

“Comfortable!” ejaculated the awe-struck Mr. Stevens, “I should say so!  My word!”

“Yes,” pursued Mr. Brimberly, “comfortable, and I ventur’ to think, tasteful, sir, for I’ll admit young Ravenslee—­though a millionaire and young—­’as taste.  Observe this costly bricky-brack!  Oh, yes, young Har is a man of taste indoobitably, I think you must admit.”

“Very much so indeed, sir!” answered Mr. Stevens with his pallid glance on the array of bottles. “‘Three Star,’ I think, Mr. Brimberly?”

“Sir,” sighed Mr. Brimberly in gentle reproach, “you ’ere be’old Cognac brandy as couldn’t be acquired for twenty-five dollars the bottle!  Then ’ere we ’ave jubilee port, a rare old sherry, and whisky.  Now what shall we make it?  You, being like myself, a Englishman in this ’ere land of eagles, spread and otherwise, suppose we make it a B and a Hess?”

“By all means!” nodded Mr. Stevens.

“I was meditating,” said Mr. Brimberly, busied with the bottles and glasses, “I was cogitating calling hup Mr. Jenkins, the Stanways’ butler across the way.  The Stanways is common people, parvynoo, Mr. Stevens, parvynoo, but Mr. Jenkins is very superior and plays the banjer very affecting.  Our ’ousekeeper and the maids is gone to bed, and I’ve give our footmen leave of habsence—­I thought we might ’ave a nice, quiet musical hour or so.  You perform on the piano-forty, I believe, sir?”

“Only very occasional!” Mr. Stevens admitted.  “But,” and here his pale eyes glanced toward the door, “do I understand as he is out for the night?”