with great gravity, "if I'm corpulent, which I
don't deny, but never thought to have it made a reproach, it's neither
over-feeding nor want of care, but constitootion, as derived from my
parents, Sir Thomas. There is nothing," he added with a pensive
superiority, "as is so gen'rally misunderstood." Then Williams drew
himself up to still greater dignity, stimulated by Sir Tom's laugh. "If
this fellow is to be long in the house, Sir Thomas, I won't answer for
what may happen; for he's got the devil's own temper, like all of them,
and carries a knife like all of them."

"What do you want of me, man? Say it out! Am I to represent to Madame di
Forno-Populo that three great hulking fellows of you are afraid of her
slim Neapolitan?" Sir Tom cried impatiently.

"Not afraid, Sir Thomas, of nothing, but of breaking the law," said
Williams, quickly. Then he added in an insinuating tone: "But I tell
them, ladies don't stop long in country visits, not at this time of the
year. And a thing can be put up with for short that any man'd kick at
for long. Madame the Countess will be moving on to pay her other visits,
Sir Thomas, if I might make so bold? She is a lady as likes variety;
leastways she was so in the old times."

Sir Thomas stared at the bold questioner, who thus went to the heart of
the matter. Then he burst into a hearty laugh. "If you knew so much
about Madame the Countess," he cried, "my good fellow, what need have
you to come and consult me?"

CHAPTER XXV.

THE CONTESSA'S BOUDOIR.

The east rooms in which Madame di Forno-Populo had been placed on her
arrival at the Hall were handsome and comfortable, though they were not
the best in the house, and they were furnished as English rooms
generally are, the bed forming the principal object in each chamber. The
Contessa had looked around her in dismay when first ushered into the
spacious room with its huge couch, and wardrobes, and its unmistakable
destination as a sleeping-room merely: and it was only the addition of a
dressing-room of tolerable proportions which had made her quarters so
agreeable to her as they proved. The transformation of this room from a
severe male dressing-room into the boudoir of a fanciful and luxurious
woman, was a work of art of which neither the master nor the mistress of
the house had the faintest conception. The Contessa was never at home;
so that she was--having that regard for her own comfort which is one of
the leading features