When the carriage drove up to his house, I handed out the ladies as politely as possible, and walked into the hall, and then, taking hold of Mr. Preston’s button at the door, I said, before the ladies and the two big servants—­upon my word I did—­“Sir,” says I, “this kind old lady asked me into her carriage, and I rode in it to please her, not myself.  When you came up and asked who the devil I was, I thought you might have put the question in a more polite manner; but it wasn’t my business to speak.  When, by way of a joke, you invited me to dinner, I thought I would answer in a joke too, and here I am.  But don’t be frightened; I’m not a-going to dine with you:  only if you play the same joke upon other parties—­on some of the chaps in our office, for example—­I recommend you to have a care, or they will take you at your word.”

“Is that all, sir?” says Mr. Preston, still in a rage.  “If you have done, will you leave this house, or shall my servants turn you out?  Turn out this fellow! do you hear me?” and he broke away from me, and flung into his study in a rage.

“He’s an ojous horrid monsther of a man, that husband of yours!” said Lady Drum, seizing hold of her elder grand-daughter’s arm, “and I hate him; and so come away, for the dinner’ll be getting cold:”  and she was for hurrying away Lady Jane without more ado.  But that kind lady, coming forward, looking very pale and trembling, said, “Mr. Titmarsh, I do hope you’ll not be angry—­that is, that you’ll forget what has happened, for, believe me, it has given me very great—­”

Very great what, I never could say, for here the poor thing’s eyes filled with tears; and Lady Drum crying out “Tut, tut! none of this nonsense,” pulled her away by the sleeve, and went upstairs.  But little Lady Fanny walked boldly up to me, and held me out her little hand, and gave mine such a squeeze and said, “Good-bye, my dear Mr. Titmarsh,” so very kindly, that I’m blest if I did not blush up to the ears, and all the blood in my body began to tingle.

So, when she was gone, I clapped my hat on my head, and walked out of the hall-door, feeling as proud as a peacock and as brave as a lion; and all I wished for was that one of those saucy grinning footmen should say or do something to me that was the least uncivil, so that I might have the pleasure of knocking him down, with my best compliments to his master.  But neither of them did me any such favour! and I went away and dined at home off boiled mutton and turnips with Gus Hoskins quite peacefully.

I did not think it was proper to tell Gus (who, between ourselves, is rather curious, and inclined to tittle-tattle) all the particulars of the family quarrel of which I had been the cause and witness, and so just said that the old lady—­("They were the Drum arms,” says Gus; “for I went and looked them out that minute in the ‘Peerage’")—­that the old lady turned out to be a cousin of mine, and that she had taken me to drive in the Park.  Next day we went to the office as usual, when you may be sure that Hoskins told everything of what had happened, and a great deal more; and somehow, though I did not pretend to care sixpence about the matter, I must confess that I was rather pleased that the gents in our office should hear of a part of my adventure.