Ashmead, but too regretfully to affront her.

"It _was,"_ said Ina; "I feel it. But it is not one _now,_ because I have
_you_ to assist me with your experience and ability. You will find him
for me, somehow or other. I know you will."

Let a woman have ever so little guile, she must have tact, if she is a
true woman. Now, tact, if its etymology is to be trusted, implies a fine
sense and power of touch; so, in virtue of her sex, she pats a horse
before she rides him, and a man before she drives him. There, ladies,
there is an indictment in two counts; traverse either of them if you can.

Joseph Ashmead, thus delicately but effectually manipulated, swelled with
gratified vanity and said, "You are quite right; you can't do this sort
of thing yourself; you want an agent."

"Of course I do."

"Well, you have got one. Now let me see--fifty to one he is not at
Homburg at all. If he is, he most likely stays at Frankfort. He is a
swell, is he not?"

"Swell!" said the Anglo-Dane, puzzled. "Not that I am aware of." She was
strictly on her guard against vituperation of her beloved scamp.

"Pooh, pooh!" said Ashmead; "of course he is, and not the sort to lodge
in Homburg."

"Then behold my incompetence!" said Ina.