"Oh, that's it, is it?" said Augustus.
"So it is, sir," said Mrs. Baker, thinking that the subject quite justified the manner.
"And of no use whatsoever to eat only a little bit of one as a man does then. To know what a pheasant is you should have it all to yourself."
"So you should, sir," said Mrs. Baker, quite delighted and very much in earnest.
"And you should have nothing else. Then, if the bird be good to begin with, and has been well hung—"
"There's a deal in that," said Mrs. Baker.
"Then, I say, you'll know what a pheasant is. That's the lesson which I have learned to-day, and I give it you as an adequate return for the pheasant itself."
"I was almost afeard it would be spoilt by being brought up the second time," said Mrs. Baker. "And so I said to my lady; but she wouldn't have you woke, nohow." And then Mrs. Baker, having heard the last of the lecture, took away the empty wine-glass and shut the door behind her.
"And now I'll write those two letters," said Graham. "What I've written hitherto I wrote in bed, and I feel almost more awkward now I am up than I did then."
"But what letters are they?"