"And that _miserable_ Sieur Lennox to
go also? Tell me that!" She folded her arms, like Napoleon at St.
Helena, and smiled again that smile which was nothing but a sneer.
Briggs rubbed his nose contemplatively.
"Little Francis can go ennywheres," he said at last. "He's laid out a
good deal of tin on Vi and others of 'er purfession. You cannot make
enny-think of that young feller but a cad. I would not accept 'im for my
pussonal attendant. No! But Sir Philip Bruce-Errington--" He paused,
then continued, "Air you sure of your facts, Mamzelle?"
Mamzelle was so sure, that the bow on her cap threatened to come off
with the determined wagging of her head.
"Well," resumed Briggs, "Sir Philip may, like hothers, consider it 'the
thing' you know, to 'ang on as it were to Vi. But I _'ad_ thought 'im
superior to it. Ah! poor 'uman natur, as 'Uxley says!" and Briggs
sighed. "Lady Errington is a sweet creetur, Mamzelle--a _very_ sweet
creetur! _Has_ a rule I find the merest nod of my 'ed a sufficient
saloot to a woman of the aristocracy--but for _'er_, Mamzelle, I never
fail to show 'er up with a court bow!" And involuntarily Briggs bowed
then and there in his most elegant manner.
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