"Sorry to trouble you, your Grace: the lady...."
"Now, look here, MY MAN, the lady is my cousin."
"EXCUSE ME, your Grace, I quite understand: no harm intended: I thought I recognized the LITTLE LADY as one of the LIGHT FINGERED GENTRY; beg pardon, I'm sure; I came particularly to ask your Grace's aid regarding the so-called MYSTERIOUS MR. SABIN; we believe he was THE MAN INSIDE, THE MYSTERY OF THE MIDDLE-TEMPLE, although fortunately for himself, he keeps well WITHIN THE LAW; this slippery TENNESSEE SHAD was at lunch to-day with Miss Celeste of the Gaiety—nothing wrong with your Grace, I hope—great show on there; your Grace probably recalls the timely advice you gave us regarding THE CARLTON CASE; well, SIR MORTIMER, my chief, had HOPE that your Grace would again be able to advise us."
"I fear not, in this case, Morgan, in fact I don't want to stand in ANOTHER MAN'S SHOES, THE MAN IN THE BASEMENT was really responsible for that advice."
"Then I shall INTERVIEW, THE LODGER; WHAT'S HIS NAME, your Grace?"
"That is OUT OF THE QUESTION, Morgan; you are like the DOG in the hands of the express company: you've eaten your TAG and don't know where you are to go; too late; THE PEOPLE DOWNSTAIRS, I am told, left yesterday for TROIS SEMAINES EN FRANCE, which means, of course, SOJOURNING, SHOPPING AND STUDYING IN PARIS; and now you must go, as I have an appointment, long overdue; take a cigar, Morgan, from THE BRASS BOWL, over there, and IN AFTER YEARS, you will remember that particular brand, as it is pure HEMP, and if you are going HOME, take that PURPLE FERN to your wife's MOTHER, for a chance like this only comes ONCE TO EVERY MAN, and GOOD NIGHT."
[ III: INTRODUCES MARJORIE.]
MARJORIE'S VACATION was fast approaching its end; SHE and her friend MARIETTA, BY FORCE OF CIRCUMSTANCES, were conducting a flourishing TYPE-WRITING establishment, JUST BETWEEN THEMSELVES, at THE HOUSE ON CHERRY STREET, on THE SUNNY SIDE OF THE STREET, so that PASSERS-BY could see THE WAY UP, and they always allowed themselves, as a VACATION, LITTLE JOURNEYS of a fortnight's duration IN THAMESLAND or among THE ALPS.
Marjorie and her very best friend, BETTY STANDISH, were seated under THE PLUM TREE, but obviously, not at a time when the fruit was over-ripe, in THE GARDEN AT NO. 19, in that historic spot, CHANTREY LAND, as the old village of Norton, DERBYSHIRE, is called, having just been served with a second instalment of TEA, by TILLIE A MENNONITE MAID, who carried with her, THE GLEAM of LOCAL COLOR. The girls had just had an exceedingly trying two hours' visit from THE MAYOR'S WIFE, one of THE RAVENELS, and whose only TOPICS FOR CONVERSATION, IN A NUTSHELL, were invariably IN DEFENSE of her FAMILY; that she was following IN THE FOOTSTEPS OF THE BRONTES, and always ended with the statement that her BIG BROTHER, JOHN HENRY SMITH, THE ARCHDEACON, had ordered the removal of THE OLD PEABODY PEW, despite THE WARNING OF SEXTON MAGINNIS, that THE MONK'S TREASURE would not be found in that part of THE LONELY CHURCH of ST. JUDE'S and to-day, in addition to these thread-bare topics, she announced to her hearers, that ON GOING TO CHURCH, she had passed AT CLOSE RANGE, LORD LONDON, and his SISTER CARRIE, taking some STRAY BIRDS and TOY DOGS to the ABANDONED, HILL-TOP FARM (to see the DOG STARS) and finally, that her husband, SIR JOHN CONSTANTINE, had always been A SERVANT OF THE PUBLIC: in fact, with the Mayor's wife, it was always, I MYSELF and my family, and the young girls were at the point of collapse, when THE CRISIS came, and THE EGOTISTICAL I, lady took her departure.