When we had finished supper I found that the skies had nearly cleared
and that it was growing quite light again. I asked permission to step
out upon a little piazza which opened from the dining-room and smoke a
pipe, and while I was sitting there enjoying the beauty of the
sunlight on the sparkling grass and trees I again heard the little man
and his wife talking to each other.
"It can't be done," said he, speaking very positively. "I've orders
about that, and there's no getting round them."
"It's got to be done!" said she, "and there's an end of it! The
clothes won't be dry until morning, and it won't do to put them too
near the stove, or they'll shrink so he can't get them on. And he
can't go away to hunt up lodgings wearing the Duke's dressing-gown and
them yellow breeches!"
"Orders is orders," said the man, "and unless I get special leave, it
can't be done."
"Well, then, go and get special leave," said she, "and don't stand
there talking about it!"
There was no doubt that my lodging that night was the subject of this
conversation, but I had no desire to interfere with the good
intentions of my hostess.
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