"Why doesn't he come?" growled Varbarriere, with a motion of his heel like a stamp. "What do you think he has done? Some cursed sottise."
"Possibly he has proposed marriage to the young lady, and been refused."
"Refused! I hope he has."
At this juncture the waiter returned.
"Well?"
"No, sir, please. No one hin the 'ouse, sir. No such name."
"Are you sure?" asked Varbarriere of the attorney, in an under diapason.
"Perfectly—said he'd wait here for you. I told him you'd be here this morning," answered he, dolorously.
"Go down, sir, and get me a list of the gentlemen in the house. I'll pay for it," said Varbarriere, with an imperious jerk of his hand.
The ponderous gentleman in black was very uneasy, and well he might. So he looked silently out of the window which commands a view of the inn yard, and his eyes wandered over a handsome manure-heap to the chicken-coop and paddling ducks, and he saw three horses' tails in perspective in the chiaro-oscuro of the stable, in the open door of which a groom was rubbing a curb chain. He thought how wisely he had done in letting Guy know so little of his designs. And as he gloomily congratulated himself on his wise reserve, the waiter returned with a slate, and a double column of names scratched on it.