His eyes seemed to apostrophise Hilary’s hat, which was of soft felt:  ‘Yes, yes—­I’ve seen your sort a-stayin’ about in the best houses.  They has you down because of your learnin’; and quite the manners of a gentleman you’ve got.’

“My wife’s sister, I expect.”

“Oh dear!  She often has a paper off o’ me.  A real lady—­not one o’ these”—­again he invited Hilary to confidence—­“you know what I mean, sir—­that buys their things a’ ready-made at these ’ere large establishments.  Oh, I know her well.”

“The old gentleman who visited you is her father.”

“Is he?  Oh dear!” The old butler was silent, evidently puzzled.

Hilary’s eyebrows began to execute those intricate manoeuvres which always indicated that he was about to tax his delicacy.

“How-how does Hughs treat the little girl who lives in the next room to you?”

The old butler replied in a rather gloomy tone: 

“She takes my advice, and don’t ‘ave nothin’ to say to ’im.  Dreadful foreign-lookin’ man ’e is.  Wherever ’e was brought up I can’t think!”

“A soldier, wasn’t he?”

“So he says.  He’s one o’ these that works for the Vestry; an’ then ’e’ll go an’ get upon the drink, an’ when that sets ’im off, it seems as if there wasn’t no respect for nothing in ’im; he goes on against the gentry, and the Church, and every sort of institution.  I never met no soldiers like him.  Dreadful foreign—­Welsh, they tell me.”

“What do you think of the street you’re living in?”

“I keeps myself to myself; low class o’ street it is; dreadful low class o’ person there—­no self-respect about ’em.”

“Ah!” said Hilary.

“These little ‘ouses, they get into the hands o’ little men, and they don’t care so long as they makes their rent out o’ them.  They can’t help themselves—­low class o’ man like that; ’e’s got to do the best ’e can for ‘imself.  They say there’s thousands o’ these ’ouses all over London.  There’s some that’s for pullin’ of ’em down, but that’s talkin’ rubbish; where are you goin’ to get the money for to do it?  These ’ere little men, they can’t afford not even to put a paper on the walls, and the big ground landlords-you can’t expect them to know what’s happenin’ behind their backs.  There’s some ignorant fellers like this Hughs talks a lot o’ wild nonsense about the duty o’ ground landlords; but you can’t expect the real gentry to look into these sort o’ things.  They’ve got their estates down in the country.  I’ve lived with them, and of course I know.”

The little bulldog, incommoded by the passers-by, now took the opportunity of beating with her tail against the old butler’s legs.

“Oh dear! what’s this?  He don’t bite, do ’e?  Good Sambo!”

Miranda sought her master’s eye at once.  ’You see what happens to her if a lady loiters in the streets,’ she seemed to say.

“It must be hard standing about here all day, after the life you’ve led,” said Hilary.