Argyle continued to correspond with me; but, if one might judge from the altered style of his letters, Wellington had made a breach in his grace's late romantic sentiments in my favour. Breach-making was Wellington's trade, you know; and little as men of Argyle's nation might be expected to care about breeches, yet the idea of Wellington often made him sigh; and sometimes he whistled, which, with Argyle, was just the same thing.
I forgot to mention, that, on the day after I met a certain great man at Julia's house, my servant informed me a gentleman in the parlour desired to speak to me.
"Why do not you bring his name?" said I.
"The gentleman says it does not signify," was my footman's answer.
"Go, and tell him that I think it does signify; and that I will not receive people who are ashamed either of me or themselves."
The man hesitated.
"Stay," said I, "I will put it down for you," and I wrote what I had said on a bit of paper.
My servant brought me back the paper, on the blank side of which was written, with a pencil, one word.
I sent it down again, with these words written underneath the word, on purpose to put him in a passion, "Don't know anybody in that shire."
The servant returned once more, with one of his lordship's printed cards, assuring me the gentleman in the parlour was walking about in a great passion.