and don't upset anything. How is Miss Halcombe?"

"Very well, thank you, sir."

"And Lady Glyde?"

I received no answer. The Young Person's face became more unfinished
than ever, and I think she began to cry. I certainly saw something
moist about her eyes. Tears or perspiration? Louis (whom I have just
consulted) is inclined to think, tears. He is in her class of life,
and he ought to know best. Let us say, tears.

Except when the refining process of Art judiciously removes from them
all resemblance to Nature, I distinctly object to tears. Tears are
scientifically described as a Secretion. I can understand that a
secretion may be healthy or unhealthy, but I cannot see the interest of
a secretion from a sentimental point of view. Perhaps my own
secretions being all wrong together, I am a little prejudiced on the
subject. No matter. I behaved, on this occasion, with all possible
propriety and feeling. I closed my eyes and said to Louis--

"Endeavour to ascertain what she means."

Louis endeavoured, and the Young Person endeavoured. They succeeded in
confusing each other to such an extent that I am bound in common
gratitude to say, they really amused me. I think I shall send for them
again when I am in low spirits. I have just mentioned this idea to
Louis. Strange to say, it seems to make him uncomfortable. Poor devil!

Surely I am not expected to repeat my niece's maid's explanation of her
tears, interpreted in the English of my Swiss valet? The thing is
manifestly impossible. I can give my own impressions and feelings
perhaps. Will that do as well? Please say, Yes.

My idea is that she began by telling me (through Louis) that her master
had dismissed her from her mistress's service. (Observe, throughout,
the strange irrelevancy of the Young Person. Was it my fault that she
had lost her place?) On her dismissal, she had gone to the inn to
sleep. (I don't keep the inn--why mention it to ME?) Between six
o'clock and seven Miss Halcombe had come to say good-bye, and had given
her two letters, one for me, and one for a gentleman in London. (I am
not a gentleman in London--hang the gentleman in London!) She had
carefully put the two letters into her bosom (what have I to do with
her bosom?); she had been very unhappy, when Miss Halcombe had gone
away again; she had not had the heart to put bit or drop between her
lips till it was near bedtime, and then, when it was close on nine
o'clock, she had