dlar--fallen into the sere, like the man he abandoned!"

"Humph--where were they two years ago?"

"At a village not far from Humberston. He had a pretty house, sir, and
sold baskets; and the girl was there too, favoured by a great lady--a
Marchioness, sir! Gods!"

"Marchioness?--near Humberston? The Marchioness of Montfort, I suppose?"

"Likely enough; I don't remember. All I know is, that two years ago my
old Clown was my tyrannical manager; and being in that capacity, and
this world being made for Caesar, which is a shame, sir, he said to
me, with a sneer, 'Old Gentleman Waife, whom you used to bully, and
his Juliet Araminta, are in clover!' And the mocking varlet went on to
unfold a tale to the effect, that when he had last visited Humberston,
in the race-week, a young tradesman, who was courting the Columbine,
whose young idea I myself taught to shoot on the light fantastic toe,
treated that Columbine, and one of her sister train (being, indeed, her
aunt, who has since come out at the Surrey in Desdemona) to a picnic in
a fine park. (That's discipline!--ha, ha!) And there, sir, Columbine
and her aunt saw Waife on the other side of a stream by which they sate
carousing."

"The Clown perhaps said it to spite you."

"Columbine herself confirmed his tale, and said that on returning to the
Village Inn for the Triumphal Car (or bus) which brought them, she
asked if a Mr. Waife dwelt thereabouts, and was told, 'Yes, with his
grand-daughter.' And she went on asking, till all came out as the Clown
reported. And Columbine had not even the gratitude, the justice, to
expose that villain--not even to say he had been my perfidious servant!
She had the face to tell me 'she thought it might harm him, and he was a
kind old soul.' Sir, a Columbine whose toes I had rapped scores of times
before they could be turned out, was below contempt! but when my own
Clown thus triumphed over me, in parading before my vision the bloated
prosperity of mine enemy, it went to my heart like a knife; and we had
words on it, sir, and--I left him to his fate. But a pedlar! Gentleman
Waife has come to that! The heavens are just, sir, and of our pleasant
vices, sir, make instruments that--that--"

"Scourge us," prompted the Hag, severely.

Losely rang the bell; the maid-servant appeared. "My horse and
bill. Well, Mr. Rugge, I must quit your agreeable society. I am
not overflowing with wealth at this moment, or I would request your
acceptance of--