“The Queen's messenger has just handed me that for you, Bramleigh. I hope it's good news.”
Bramleigh opened and read:—
“Foreign Office.
“Sir,—I have had much pleasure in submitting your name to Her Majesty for the appointment of consul at Cattaro, where your salary will be two hundred pounds a year, and twenty pounds for office expenses. You will repair to your post without unnecessary delay, and report your arrival to this department.
“I am, &c, &c,
“RIDDLESWORTH.”
“Two hundred a year! Fifty less than we gave our cook!” said Bramleigh, with a faint smile.
“It is an insult, an outrage,” said Nelly, whose face and neck glowed till they appeared crimson. “I hope, Gusty, you 'll have the firmness to reject such an offer.”
“What does Mr. Cutbill say?” asked he, turning towards him.
“Mr. Cutbill says that if you 're bent on playing Don Quixote, and won't go back and enjoy what's your own, like a sensible man, this pittance—it ain't more—is better than trying to eke out life by your little talents.”