“Dear me,” said I, “I ordered no sherry, I wanted some ale—a pint of ale.”
“You called for a pint, sir,” said the handmaid, “but you mentioned no ale, and I naturally supposed that a gentleman of your appearance”—here she glanced at my dusty coat—“and speaking in the tone you did, would not condescend to drink ale with his chop; however, as it seems I have been mistaken, I can take away the sherry and bring you the ale.”
“Well, well,” said I, “you can let the sherry remain; I do not like sherry, and am very fond of ale, but you can let the wine remain; upon the whole I am glad you brought it—indeed I merely came to do a good turn to the master of the house.”
“Thank you, sir,” said the handmaid.
“Are you his daughter?” said I.
“Oh no, sir,” said the handmaid reverently; “only his waiter.”
“You may be proud to wait on him,” said I.
“I am, sir,” said the handmaid, casting down her eyes.
“I suppose he is much respected in the neighbourhood?” said I.
“Very much so, sir,” said the damsel, “especially amidst the connection.”