“Just so,” said Davis, as he arose; “and I mean to keep my time like a pendulum. Can I do any little commission for your Ladyship as I pass through town,—anything at Howell and James's, anything from Storr's?”
“I never heard of them—”
“Quite time enough, Lizzy,” broke in Beecher; “not to say that we might stock a very smart warehouse with the contents of the next room. Don't forget the courier,—he can join us at Rome; and remember, we shall want a cook. The 'Mowbray' have an excellent fellow, and I 'm sure an extra fifty would seduce him, particularly as he hates England, detests a club, and can't abide the 'Sundays;' and my Lady will require something smarter than Annette as a maid.”
“Oh, I could n't part with Annette!”
“Nor need you; but you must have some one who can dress hair in a Christian fashion.”
“And what do you call that?” asked Grog, with a stare of insolent meaning.
“My Lord is quite right in the epithet; for I copied my present coiffure from a picture of a Jewish girl I bought this morning, and I fancy it becomes me vastly.”
There was in the easy coquetry of this speech what at once relieved the awkwardness of a very ticklish moment, and Beecher rewarded her address with a smile of gratitude.
“And the house in Portland Place to be let?” murmured Davis, as he read from his note-book. “What of that box in the Isle of Wight?”
“I rather think we shall keep it on; my sister-in-law liked it, and might wish to go there.”