“Oh, nonsense! my dear sir! A lady can never intrude. Well, leave your address; and if anything should turn up, be sure I shall remember you. I am most anxious to serve Cottrell.”
Swinton left the address; and with an obsequious salute, parted from the dispenser of situations.
As he drove back along the pavement of Piccadilly, he reflected to himself that the pony equipage had not been chartered in vain.
He now knew the character of the man to whom he had addressed his solicitation.
Chapter Forty Three.
To the Country.
There is but one country in the world where country-life is thoroughly understood, and truly enjoyable. It is England!
True, this enjoyment is confined to the few—to England’s gentry. Her farmer knows nought of it; her labourer still less.