“Sir!” cried I, not understanding a word.
“I see, ma'am, we only intrude upon you: however, you must excuse my just saying we would not for the world have taken such a liberty, though very sensible of the happiness of being allowed to come in for half an hour,—which is the best half-hour of the whole day; but yet, if it was not for your own commands—”
“What commands, sir?”
He grew still more perplexed, and made at least a dozen speeches to the same no purpose, before I could draw from him anything explicit; all of them listening silently the whole time, and myself invariably staring. At last, a few words escaped him more intelligible.
“Your messages, ma'am, were what encouraged us to come.”
“And pray, sir, do tell me what messages?—I am very happy to see you, but I never sent any messages at all?”
“Indeed, ma'am!” cried he, staring in his turn; “why your servant, little John there, came rapping at our door, at the equerry room, before we had well swallowed our dinner, and said, 'My lady is waiting tea, sir.'”
I was quite confounded. I assured him it was an entire fabrication of my servant's, as I had never sent, nor even thought of sending him, for I was going out.
“Why to own the truth, ma'am,” cried he, brightening up, “I did really think it a little odd to send for us in that hurry, for we got up directly from table, and said, if the lady is waiting, to be sure we must not keep her; and then—when we came—to just peep in, and say you were going out!”
How intolerable an impertinence in John!—it was really no wonder the poor colonel was so glum.