What answer she was to make to this or whether she
was to make any she had not decided when they were
interrupted by the reappearance of the old lady and
the bird. She was declaring to the guard at the
window, that as she had paid for a first-class seat
for her parrot she would get into any carriage she
liked in which there were two empty seats. Her
bird had been ill-treated by some scurrilous ill-conditioned
travellers and she had therefore returned to the comparative
kindness of her former companions. “They
threatened to put him out of the window, sir,”
said the old woman to Morton as she was forcing her
way in. “Windersir, windersir,” said
the parrot.
“I hope he’ll behave himself here, ma’am,”
said Morton.
“Heremam, heremam, heremam,” said the
parrot.
“Now go to bed like a good bird,” said
the old lady putting her shawl over the cage,—whereupon
the parrot made a more diabolical noise than ever
under the curtain.
Mary felt that there was no more to be said about
Mr. Twentyman and her hopes and prospects, and for
the moment she was glad to be left in peace.
The old lady and the parrot continued their conversation
till they had all arrived in Cheltenham;—and
Mary as she sat alone thinking of it afterwards might
perhaps feel a soft regret that Reginald Morton had
been interrupted by the talkative animal.
“So Peter Boyd is to go to Washington in the
Paragon’s place, and Jack Slade goes to Vienna,
and young Palliser is to get Slade’s berth at
Lisbon.” This information was given by a
handsome man, known as Mounser Green, about six feet
high, wearing a velvet shooting coat,—more
properly called an office coat from its present uses,
who had just entered a spacious well-carpeted comfortable
room in which three other gentlemen were sitting at
their different tables. This was one of the rooms
in the Foreign Office and looked out into St. James’s
Park. Mounser Green was a distinguished clerk
in that department,—and distinguished also
in various ways, being one of the fashionable men
about town, a great adept at private theatricals,
remarkable as a billiard player at his club, and a
contributor to various magazines. At this moment
he had a cigar in his mouth, and when he entered the
room he stood with his back to the fire ready for
conversation and looking very unlike a clerk who intended
to do any work. But there was a general idea
that Mounser Green was invaluable to the Foreign Office.
He could speak and write two or three foreign languages;
he could do a spurt of work,—ten hours
at a sitting when required; he was ready to go through
fire and water for his chief; and was a gentleman all
round. Though still nominally a young man, being
perhaps thirty-five years of age—he had
entered the service before competitive examination
