al precision, smoking
vigorously all the time. This done, he unpacks his valise, his
shirt-case and other belongings, in the most systematic way possible,
looks through the things he left in the room when he went to
Versailles, to see that everything is in order, and at last rings for
the servant to take away the clothes and shoes that need cleaning. The
subtle analyst would argue from all this that Lushington was one of
those painfully orderly persons, who are made positively nervous by the
sight of a hair-brush lying askew, or a tie dropped on the floor.

It was at most true that he had acquired a set of artificially precise
habits to which he clung most tenaciously, and which certainly
harmonised with the natural appearance of neatness that had formerly
been his despair. Why he had taken so much trouble to become orderly
was his own business. Possibly he had got tired of that state of life
in which it is impossible to find anything in less than half an hour
when one wants it in half a minute. At all events, he had taken pains
to acquire orderliness, and, for reasons which will appear hereafter,
it is worth while to note the fact.

When everything was arranged to his satisfaction, he sat down in the
most comfortable chair in the room, filled another of the three wooden
pipes that now lay side by side on the writing-table, and continued to
smoke as if his welfare depended on consuming a certain quantity of
tobacco in a given time. He must have had a sound heart and a strong
head, for he did not desist from his occupation for many hours, though
he had not eaten anything particular at breakfast, at Mrs. Rushmore's,
and nothing at all since.

The afternoon was wearing on when he knocked the ashes out of his pipe
very carefully, laid it in its place, rose from his seat and uttered a
single profane ejaculation.

'Damn!'

Having said this, he said no more, for indeed, if taken literally,
there could be nothing more to be said. The malediction, however, was
directed against nothing particular, and certainly against no person
living or dead; it only applied to the aggregate of the awkward
circumstances in which he found himself, and as he was alone he felt
quite sure of not being misunderstood.

He did not even take a servant with him when he travelled, though he
had an excellent Scotchman for a valet, who could do a great variety of
useful things, besides holding his tongue, which is one of the finest
qualities in the