audaciously sly at Dorothy, who interested herself with certain flowers
that stood in the window.

"Ah! I see," returned Mrs. Hanway-Harley, who did not see at all. "You
mean Mr. Gwynn." She had heard of Mr. Gwynn, so far as the town knew
that personage, from her husband. "But you said 'others'?"

"Yes, madam; besides Mr. Gwynn, there are Matzai and Mr. Pickwick."
Then, responding to Mrs. Hanway-Harley's inquiring brows, Richard went
forward with explanations. "Matzai is my valet, while Mr. Pickwick is a
terrier torn by an implacable hatred of rats; which latter is the more
strange, madam, for I give you my word Mr. Pickwick never saw a rat in
his life."

"What an extraordinary young man!" ruminated Mrs. Hanway-Harley, and she
bestowed upon Richard a searching glance to see if by any miracle of
impertinence he was poking fun at her.

That well-balanced gentleman realized the peril, and faced it with a
countenance as blankly, not to say as blandly vacuous as the wrong side
of a tombstone. He ran the less risk; for the lady could not conceive
how anyone dare take so gross a liberty with a Hanway-Harley; one, too,
whose future held tremendous chances of a White House. Being satisfied
of Richard's seriousness, and concluding privily that he was only a
dullard whom the honor of her notice had confused, she said:

"Umph! Matzai and Mr. Pickwick! Yes; certainly!"

Then Mrs. Hanway-Harley set herself to ask questions, the bald
aggressiveness whereof gave the daughter a red brow. Richard answered