"Of course, it's a hopen secret, and you're only askin' it to try me. But so long as the mistress fancies a hincog—"
"Lead on," said I. "You are an exemplary young man, and I, too, am playing the game to the best of my lights."
"Yes, sir." He led me up to a room prepared for me—with candles lit, hot water ready, and bed neatly turned down. On the bed lay the full costume of a Punchinello: striped stockings, breeches with rosettes, tinselled coat with protuberant stomach and hump, cocked hat, and all proper accessories—even to a false nose.
"Am I expected to get into these things?" I asked.
"If I can be of any assistance, sir—"
"Thank you: no." I handed him the key of my bag, flung off coat and waistcoat, and sat down to unlace my boots. "Your mistress is in the drawing-room, I suppose, with her guests?"
"She is, sir."
"And Mr. Herbert?"
"Mr. 'Erbert was to have been 'ome by ten-thirty. He is—as you know, sir—a little irregilar. But youth,"—William arranged my brushes carefully—"youth must 'ave its fling. Oh, he's a caution!" A chuckle escaped him; he checked it and was instantly demure. Almost, indeed, he eyed me with a look of rebuke. "Anything more, sir?"
"Nothing more, thank you."