'All that need be known, indeed, and perhaps more,' added George with the air of a man turning a compliment Mr. Wogan was sensibly flattered, and took his friend's words as an apology for that disrespect which he had shown towards Thomas Wogan two days before, and the pair seated themselves to breakfast in the best of good humour.
'We start at nine of the evening,' said George. 'I have commanded a sober suit of grey cloth for you, Nick, since you cannot squeeze into my coats, and it should be here by now. Meanwhile, I leave you to Mrs. Barnes's attentions.'
Of these attentions Mrs. Barnes was by no means sparing. For the buxom widow of the bookseller, who, to her credit be it said, had her full share of good looks, joined to an admirable warmth of heart a less adorable curiosity. With the best intentions in the world for her lodgers' security, she was always prying into their secrets. Nor did she always hold her tongue outside her own doors, as Mr. Kelly had bitter reason afterwards to know. In a word, she had all the inquisitiveness of her class, and sufficient wiles to make that inquisitiveness difficult to parry. Not that Nicholas Wogan was at all troubled upon this score, for if there was one quality upon which the good man prided himself, it was his comprehension of the sex. 'Woman,' he would say with a sententious pursing of the lips and a nod of the head; and again 'woman,' and so drop into silence; as who should say, 'Here's a nut I could show you the kernel of were I so disposed.'
This morning, however, Mrs. Barnes made no demand upon Wogan's cunning. For she took the paper with the thrice iterated Ugus which the Parson had replaced upon the mantelshelf, and, with the same gingerly precautions as she had used in touching it before, dropped it into the fire.
'And why that?' asked Wogan.
Mrs. Barnes flung out at him in reply.
'I have no patience with you,' she cried. 'What's Ugus, Mr. Wogan? Answer me that,' and she struck her arms akimbo. 'What's Ugus but one of your cypher words, and you must needs stick it up on your mantelshelf for all the world to see?'
'It's no cypher word at all,' replied Wogan with a laugh.
'What is it then?' said she.
'My dear woman, the merest mare's nest,' said he.