“Do you mean the engineering man we saw at Castello?”
“The same.”
“Oh, dear! I retract. I recall my last speech, and avow, in all humility, I was wrong. All I remember of that man—not much certainly—but all I do remember of him was that he was odious.”
“He was amusing, in his way.”
“Probably—but I detested 'his way.'”
“The Bramleighs said he was good-natured.”
“With all my heart. Give him all the excellent qualities you like; but he will still remain insufferably ill-bred and coarse-minded. Why did you ask him, George?”
“I did n't; he asked himself. Here's his note: 'Dear L'Estrange'—familiar enough—'Dear L'Estrange—I have just arrived here, and want to have some talk with you. I mean, therefore, to ask you to let me take a bit of dinner with you to-day. I shall be out by five or half-past. Don't make a stranger of me, but give me the cold mutton or whatever it is.—Yours, Tom Cutbill.'”
“What a type of the writer!”
“Well; but what can we get for dinner, Ju?”