Was Mrs. Creery crushed? Not at all, she merely raised her light eyebrows and said,—
"Oh, not a professional photographer! Then what are you?"
"Mrs. Creery's very humble slave," bowing profoundly.
"Photographs are rather a sore subject with him just now," broke in Mr. Quentin in his loud, hearty voice. "You have not heard what happened to him yesterday when he was out shooting?"
"No; how should I?" she retorted peevishly.
"Well, I must say he bore it like a stoic. I myself, mild as I am, and sweet as you know my temper to be, would have killed the fellow."
"What fellow?"
"My new chokra. Time hung heavily on his hands, and I suppose he thought he would be doing something really useful for once in his life, so he went into the room where Lisle keeps all his precious plates—photographic plates, not even printed off—plates he has collected and treasured like so many diamonds—"
"Well, well, well?" tapping her foot.
"My dear lady, I'm coming to it if you won't hurry me. My confounded chokra took them all for so much DIRTY GLASS, and washed every man Jack of them, and was exceedingly proud of his industry!"