It was extraordinary enough for the coachman to be ordered to Stepney Green to take up a lord—it was more extraordinary to see that lord's noble lady falling on the neck of an ordinary female in a black stuff gown and an apron—namely, Mrs. Bormalack; and still more wonderful to see that noble lady led to the carriage by a young gentleman who seemed to belong to the place.
"I know him," said James, the footman, presently.
"Who is he?"
"He's Mr. Le Breton, nephew or something of Lord Jocelyn. I've seen him about; and what he's doing on Stepney Green the Lord only knows."
"James," said the coachman.
"John," said the footman.
"When you don't understand what a young gentleman is a-doin', what does a man of your experience conclude?"
"John," said the footman, "you are right as usual; but I didn't see her."
There was a little crowd outside, and it was a proud moment for Lady Davenant when she walked through the lane (which she could have wished a mile long) formed by the spectators, and took her place in the open carriage, beneath the great fur rug. His lordship followed with a look of sadness, or apprehension, rather than triumph. The door was slammed, the footman mounted the box, and the carriage drove off—one boy called "Hooray!" and jumped on the curbstone. To him Lord Davenant took off his hat. Another turned catherine-wheels along the road, and Lord Davenant took off his hat to him, too, with aristocratic impartiality; till the coachman flicked at him with his whip, and then he ran behind the carriage and used language for a quarter of a mile.
"Timothy," said her ladyship—"would that Aurelia Tucker were here to see!"