'Find a poor fellow on the wrong side of a hedge, and not a squire but will swear that he is a hardened ruffian!'
'Usually with reason,' said the Earl. 'Pray when did this person's parents allege that they had been in my service?'
'It was his mother. Her name was Blackett, and she left us on her marriage with one of the Hodgekins.'
Lord Ormersfield rang the bell, and Frampton, the butler and confidential servant, formed on his own model, made his appearance.
'Do you know whether a woman of the name of Blackett ever lived in service here?'
'Not that I am aware of, my Lord. I will ascertain the fact.'
In a few moments Frampton returned. 'Yes, my Lord, a girl named Blackett was once engaged to help in the scullery, but was discharged for dishonesty at the end of a month.'
'Did not Frampton know that that related to me?' said Louis, sotto voce, to his aunt. 'Did he not trust that he was reducing me from a sea anemone to a lump of quaking jelly?'
So far from this consummation, Lord Fitzjocelyn looked as triumphant as Don Quixote liberating Gines de Pasamonte. He and his father might have sat for illustrations of
'Youth is full of pleasance,
Age is full of care,'