“Give her my kindest regards,” said Crosbie.  It was quite clear both to the husband and to the wife, that he was preparing himself for rebellion against authority.

For some ten minutes there was nothing said.  Crosbie amused himself by playing with the boy whom he called Dicksey, by way of a nickname for de Courcy.

“Mamma, he calls me Dicksey.  Am I Dicksey?  I’ll call ’oo old Cross and then Aunt Dina ’on’t like ’oo.”

“I wish you would not call the child nicknames, Adolphus.  It seems as though you would wish to cast a slur upon the one which he bears.”

“I should hardly think that he would feel disposed to do that,” said Mr Gazebee.

“Hardly, indeed,” said Crosbie.

“It has never yet been disgraced in the annals of our country by being made into a nickname,” said the proud daughter of the house.  She was probably unaware that among many of his associates her father had been called Lord de Curse’ye, from the occasional energy of his language.  “And any such attempt is painful in my ears.  I think something of my family, I can assure you, Adolphus, and so does my husband.”

“A very great deal,” said Mr Gazebee.

“So do I of mine,” said Crosbie.  “That’s natural to all of us.  One of my ancestors came over with William the Conqueror.  I think he was one of the assistant cooks in the king’s tent.”

“A cook!” said young de Courcy.

“Yes, my boy, a cook.  That was the way most of our old families were made noble.  They were cooks, or butlers to the kings,—­or sometimes something worse.”

“But your family isn’t noble?”

“No;—­I’ll tell you how that was.  The king wanted this cook to poison half-a-dozen of his officers who wished to have a way of their own; but the cook said, ’No, my Lord King; I am a cook, not an executioner.’  So they sent him into the scullery, and when they called all the other servants barons and lords, they only called him Cookey.  They’ve changed the name to Crosbie since that, by degrees.”

Mr Gazebee was awestruck, and the face of the Lady Amelia became very dark.  Was it not evident that this snake, when taken into their innermost bosoms that they might there warm him, was becoming an adder, and preparing to sting them?  There was very little more conversation that evening, and soon after the story of the cook, Crosbie got up and went away to his own home.

CHAPTER XXXVI

“See, the Conquering Hero Comes”

John Eames had reached his office precisely at twelve o’clock, but when he did so he hardly knew whether he was standing on his heels or his head.  The whole morning had been to him one of intense excitement, and latterly, to a certain extent, one of triumph.  But he did not at all know what might be the results.  Would he be taken before a magistrate and locked up?  Would there be a row at the office?  Would Crosbie