at the man, for he was so christened himself: "don't talk as if you were
alluding to people's names; but say what you mean."

"I mean, my dear ma'am, that we want a little change of air and scene."

"Bless the man!" said I; "does he mean we or me!"

"I mean you, ma'am."

"Then Lard forgive you, Doctor Towers," I said; "why don't you get into a
habit of expressing yourself in a straightforward manner, like a loyal
subject of our gracious Queen Victoria, and a member of the Church of
England?"

Towers laughed, as he generally does when he has fidgetted me into any of
my impatient ways--one of my states, as I call them--and then he began,--

"Tone, ma'am, Tone, is all you require!" He appealed to Trottle, who
just then came in with the coal-scuttle, looking, in his nice black suit,
like an amiable man putting on coals from motives of benevolence.

Trottle (whom I always call my right hand) has been in my service two-and-
thirty years. He entered my service, far away from England. He is the
best of creatures, and the most respectable of men; but, opinionated.

"What you want, ma'am," says Trottle, making up the fire in his quiet and
skilful way, "is Tone."

"Lard forgive you both!" says I, bursting out a-laughing; "I see you are
in a conspiracy against me, so I suppose you must do what you like with