‘Really,’ said I, ‘you are getting on swimmingly.’

‘Oh,’ said the postilion, ’I was not a gentleman’s servant nine years without learning the ways of gentry, and being able to know gentry when I see them.’

‘And what do you say to all this?’ I demanded of Belle.

‘Stop a moment,’ interposed the postilion, ’I have one more word to say:—­and when you are surrounded by your comforts, keeping your nice little barouche and pair, your coachman and livery servant, and visited by all the carriage people in the neighbourhood—­to say nothing of the time when you come to the family estates on the death of the old people—­I shouldn’t wonder if now and then you look back with longing and regret to the days when you lived in the damp dripping dingle, had no better equipage than a pony or donkey cart, and saw no better company than a tramper or gypsy, except once, when a poor postilion was glad to seat himself at your charcoal fire.’

‘Pray,’ said I, ‘did you ever take lessons in elocution?’

‘Not directly,’ said the postilion; ’but my old master, who was in Parliament, did, and so did his son, who was intended to be an orator.  A great professor used to come and give them lessons, and I used to stand and listen, by which means I picked up a considerable quantity of what is called rhetoric.  In what I last said, I was aiming at what I have heard him frequently endeavouring to teach my governors as a thing indispensably necessary in all oratory, a graceful pere—­pere—­peregrination.’

‘Peroration, perhaps?’

‘Just so,’ said the postilion; ’and now I’m sure I am not mistaken about you; you have taken lessons yourself, at first hand, in the college vacations, and a promising pupil you were, I make no doubt.  Well, your friends will be all the happier to get you back.  Has your governor much borough interest?’

‘I ask you once more,’ said I, addressing myself to Belle, ’what you think of the history which this good man has made for us?’

‘What should I think of it,’ said Belle, still keeping her face buried in her hands, ‘but that it is mere nonsense?’

‘Nonsense!’ said the postilion.

‘Yes,’ said the girl, ‘and you know it.’

‘May my leg always ache, if I do,’ said the postilion, patting his leg with his hand; ’will you persuade me that this young man has never been at college?’

‘I have never been at college, but—­’

‘Ay, ay,’ said the postilion, ‘but—­’

’I have been to the best schools in Britain, to say nothing of a celebrated one in Ireland.’

‘Well, then, it comes to the same thing,’ said the postilion, ’or perhaps you know more than if you had been at college—­and your governor—­’

‘My governor, as you call him,’ said I, ‘is dead.’

‘And his borough interest?’

‘My father had no borough interest,’ said I; ’had he possessed any, he would perhaps not have died, as he did, honourably poor.’