We were at an inn, where there was an odd old fellow gave a supper; and there was your brother, and another fellow--as thorough an upstart as I ever met, and infernally impudent.
He got drinking, and wanted to fight us.

Now I see it! Your brother, to save his friend's bones, said he was a tailor! Of course no gentleman could fight a tailor; and it blew over with my saying we'd order our clothes of him.' 'Said he was a--!' exclaimed the Countess, gazing blankly.
'I don't wonder at your feeling annoyed,' returned Harry.

'I saw him with Rosey next day, and began to smell a rat then, but Laxley won't give up the tailor.

He's as proud as Lucifer.

He wanted to order a suit of your brother to-day; but I said--not while he's in the house, however he came here.' The Countess had partially recovered.