"Very!" reiterated the good-hearted Sir Christopher.
"You cannot recommend me a valet, Findlater," renewed his lordship, "a good, honest, sensible fellow, who can neither read nor write?"
"N-o-o,—that is to say, yes! I can; my old servant Collard is out of place, and is as ignorant as—as—"
"I—or you are?" said Lord St. George, with a laugh.
"Precisely," replied the baronet.
"Well, then, I take your recommendation: send him to me to-morrow at twelve."
"I will," said Sir Christopher.
"My dear Findlater," cried Clarence, when Lord St. George was gone, "did you not tell me, some time ago, that Collard was a great rascal, and very intimate with Jefferies? and now you recommend him to Lord St. George!"
"Hush, hush, hush!" said the baronet; "he was a great rogue to be sure: but, poor fellow, he came to me yesterday with tears in his eyes, and said he should starve if I would not give him a character; so what could I do?"
"At least, tell Lord St. George the truth," observed Clarence.