When I come down-stairs at one o'clock, I notice the desolate appearance of the Hall. Hats, coats, rugs, sticks and whips, all gone. Nothing lying about. Letters on table—“Sorry you are not up—spent a very pleasant time, &c.,” from Madame and the Chertons, with whom have also departed Chilvern and Cazell.
The only three in the house are Boodels, Medford, and myself.
I say, genially, “Well, a little quiet will be pleasant.”
Boodels replies, “Yes,” and adds that he's going off this afternoon. I press him to stay. He won't, because, as he tells me privately, that fellow Medford is so confoundedly insulting. They've had a row.
Boodels will go. He promises to write to me about his going to be married. At present I'm not to mention it. He takes the butler and cook with him. He says he's very sorry but he'll want them at home now.
The housemaid and charwoman officiate.
No other servants in the house.
Medford and I dine alone.
Somebody's taken the keys away by mistake, and we have to break into the cellar to get out the wine. Very little left.
As host or president, I must stop and attend to Medford who is our guest.