lameness, no one had ever yet got the better of him.

"There's Benjafield!" exclaimed Mabel. "Shall I run and fetch the
letters, mother?"

Mrs. Bertram rose slowly from her seat at the head of the board.

"The post is later than ever," she remarked; "it is past the half-hour.
I shall go myself and speak to Benjafield."

She walked slowly out through the open window. She wore an evening dress
of rusty black velvet with a long train. It gave her a very imposing
appearance, and the effect of her evening dress and her handsome face
and imperious manners were so overpowering that the old postman, as he
hobbled toward her, had to mutter under his breath:

"Don't forget your game leg, Benjafield, nor your wall eye, and don't
you be tooken down nor beholden to nobody."

"Why is the post so late?" inquired Mrs. Bertram. "It is more than
half-past eight."

"Eh!" exclaimed Benjafleld.

"I asked why the post was so late."

"Eh? I'm hard of hearing, your ladyship."

He came a little nearer, and leered up in the most familiar way into the
aristocratic face of Mrs. Bertram.