"Master, have I your honour's permission to speak?"
"No, Jonathan, I'll speak for you; if, that is to say, Lord George will--"
"Paardon me, Sir John Devereux Vincent, your feyllow--and his master, are not fit company for Lord George Pypp;"--and he leisurely proceeded to withdraw.
"Stop a minute, Pypp, I've just one remark to make," hurriedly exclaimed Mr. Lionel Poynter, "if Sir John will suffer me; Vincent, my good friend, we are wrong--Pypp's wrong, and so am I. First then, let me beg pardon of a very pretty girl, for making her look prettier by blushes; next, as the maid really is engaged to you, my fine fellow, it is not beneath a gentleman to say, I hope that you'll forgive me for too warmly admiring your taste; as for George's imputation, Vincent--"
"I beyg to observe," enunciated the noble scion, "I'm awf, Poynter."
He gradually drew himself away, and the baronet never saw him more.
"For shame, Pypp!" shouted after him the warm-hearted Siliphant; "I tell you what it is, Vincent, you must let me give a toast:--'Grace and her lover!' here, my man, your master allows you to take a glass of wine with us; help your beauty too."
The toast was drank with high applause: and before Jonathan humbly led away his pleased and blushing Grace, he took an opportunity of saying,
"If I may be bold enough to speak, kind gentlemen, I wish to thank you: I oughtn't to be long, for I am nothing but your servant; let it be enough to say my heart is full. And I'm in hopes it wouldn't be very wrong in me, kind gentlemen, to propose;--'My noble master--honour and happiness to him!'"
"Bravo! Jonathan, bravo-o-o-o!" there was a clatter of glasses;--and the humble pair of lovers retreated under cover of the toast.
Jennings gathered himself up, from that Jew-of-Malta tumble down the steps, less damaged by the fall than could have been imagined possible; the fact being that his cat-like nature had stood him in good stead--he had lighted on his feet; and nothing but a mighty dorsal bruise bore witness to the prowess of a Jonathan.
But, if his body was comparatively sound, the inner man was bruised all over: he crept back, and retreated to his room, in as broken and despondent a frame of mind, as any could have wished to bless him wherewithal. However, he still had one thing left to live for: his hoard--that precious hoard within his iron box, and then--the crock of gold. He took Sir John's threat about detaining, and so forth, as merely future, and calculated on rendering it nugatory, by decamping forthwith, chattels and all; but he little expected to find that the idea had already been acted upon!