"Ha!" said Mr. Swiveller, with a portentous frown. "'Tis well.
Marchioness!--but no matter. Some wine there, ho! Marchioness,
your health."
The small servant, who was not so well acquainted with theatrical
conventionalities as Mr. Swiveller, was rather alarmed by his manner,
and showed it so plainly that he felt it necessary to discharge his
brigand bearing for one more suitable to private life.
"I suppose," said Dick, "that they consult together a good deal, and
talk about a great many people--about me, for instance, sometimes, eh,
Marchioness?"
The Marchioness nodded amazingly.
"Complimentary?" asked Mr. Swiveller.
The Marchioness shook her head violently.
"H'm!" Dick muttered. "Would it be any breach of confidence,
Marchioness, to relate what they say of the humble individual who has
now the honor to--?"
"Miss Sally says you are a funny chap," replied his friend.
"Well, Marchioness," said Mr. Swiveller, "that's not uncomplimentary.
Merriment, Marchioness, is not a bad of a degrading quality. Old King
Cole was himself a merry old soul, if we may put any faith in the pages
of history."
"But she says," pursued his companion, "that you aren't to be trusted."
"Why, really, Marchioness," said Mr. Swiveller thoughtfully, "it's a
popular prejudice, and yet I'm sure I don't know why, for I've been
trusted in my time to a considerable amount, and I can safely say that I
never forsook my trust, until it deserted me--never.
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