"No, not exactly; at least I thought so, but it turned out not. But I didn't like these fellows hanging about; specially Lyster--romantic party, sigh and that sort of business. So, when I found from you it was all right, I made up my mind to see where I was."
"Well; and Miss Townshend wouldn't have it?"
"Not at all! We were sitting after dinner, when the women had gone to the drawing-room, the very day I got your telegram, and old Wentworth told us there was a man coming down the next day,--Schrötter, or Schröder, a German merchant in Mincing Lane--"
"I know him," interrupted Simnel: "Gustav Schröder; elderly man. What took him to Bissett?"
"Love, sir--love! he's engaged to be married to Miss Townshend!"
"Whew!" said Mr. Simnel, with his longest and shrillest whistle. "The deuce he is! That is news! How does the young lady like it?"
"Well, not much. She couldn't, of course, be expected to feel very enthusiastic about a short, stout, gray-headed German, who talks the most infernal jargon, and hasn't got a sound tooth in his head. Took him out shooting once, but he made the most awful mess of it; devilish near shot the beaters, and sprained his ankle leaping a half-foot ditch. The girl seemed horribly ashamed of him, and of his clumsy compliments and elephantine gambols; but she's evidently booked--her father takes care of that."
"Ah, ha!" said Mr. Simnel, nursing his knee, rocking himself to and fro, and rapidly going off into an absent fit; "ah, ha!"
"I hate to hear you say 'ah, ha,' Simnel!" said Mr. Beresford, with some asperity. "You're always up to some plottings and plans when you utter those seemingly benevolent grunts. I suppose you suspect old Townshend of some grand diablerie in this affair. I never could make out what it is that you know about that old gentleman."
"Know about him?" said Simnel, rousing himself with a laugh; "that he gives capital dinners and has plenty of money; that he's about to marry his daughter to one of the richest men in the City. What more need one know about a man? I don't know what church he goes to, or what peculiar shade of religion he affects; whether he's a good father or a bad one; whether he rules his daughter, or is ruled by her. But I do know that he drinks Tod-Heatly's champagne, and banks at the London and Westminster. This news looks fishy for your business, Beresford!"