"Three days of this," he said to his image in the glass, "would about do for me. It's the slowest game I ever took on. I'd sooner be fighting station-masters and climbing trees. We'll get out of this and try something else when Catty comes back."
The attention bestowed upon George by the waitress was quite pathetic. She waited on him at breakfast-time, cut up his bacon and eggs and sugared his coffee to her own taste. Each of these little services was accompanied by a cheerful flow of conversation such as people are wont to indulge in for their own gratification when attending sick children and babies.
"Come along," she said cheerfully, when breakfast was over; "now we'll give you a nice seat by the drawing-room fire, because it's cold and damp outside. There now, isn't that nice and comfortable?" as George was settled in a big armchair with his feet on a stool. Receiving no reply, and expecting none, she poked the fire into a blaze, and then brought the cook to look at the visitor. That lady, being of a sentimental turn of mind, gazed sorrowfully at George's good-looking features, and whispered her sympathy to the waitress.
"You can speak out, Mrs. Baily," said the girl; "he can't hear a word."
"Bless my 'eart now," said the cook; "pore young feller! My nephew 'Arry was just the same. Reg'lar handsome, and deaf as a brazen image."
"He's blind, too," said the girl; "isn't it a shame?"
"Ah," sighed the cook; "p'raps,"—looking meaningly at the rosy features of the waitress—"p'raps it's as well for some people."
The waitress blushed, and told the cook she was a caution.
"Them chins," said the cook, significantly, taking stock of George's features, "are a sign of a flirt. Baily had that sort of chin."
"I like brown hair in a man," observed the waitress, sentimentally; "especially with blue eyes."