I heard these words as I sat in the corner, and I need scarcely say how grossly the impertinence offended me. That the privacy I had paid for should be invaded was bad enough, but that my companion should begin acquaintance with an insult was worse again; and so I determined on no account, nor upon any pretext, would I hold intercourse with him, but maintain a perfect silence and reserve so long as our journey lasted.
There was an insufferable jauntiness and self-satisfaction in every movement of the new arrival, even to the reckless way he pitched into the carriage three small white canvas bags, carefully sealed and docketed; the address—which! read—being, “To H.M.'s Minister and Envoy at———, by the Hon. Grey Buller, Attaché, &c” So, then, this was one of the Young Guard of Diplomacy, one of those sucking Talleyrands, which form the hope of the Foreign Office and the terror of middle-class English abroad.
“Do you mind smoking?” asked he, abruptly, as he scraped his lucifer match against the roof of the carriage, showing, by the promptitude of his action, how little he cared for my reply.
“I never smoke, sir, except in the carriages reserved for smokers,” was my rebukeful answer.
“And I always do,” said he, in a very easy tone.
Not condescending to notice this rude rejoinder, I drew forth my newspaper, and tried to occupy myself with its contents.
“Anything new?” asked he, abruptly.
“Not that I am aware, sir. I was about to consult the paper.”
“What paper is it?”
“It is the 'Banner,' sir,—at your service,” said I, with a sort of sarcasm.