Further inquiries, on the part of all the female servants in succession, elicited no additional information of any sort.

Thomas could hum none of the songs, and could describe none of the ladies' dresses.

His audience, accordingly, gave him up in despair; and the kitchen small-talk flowed back into its ordinary channels, until the clock struck eight and startled the assembled servants into separating for their morning's work.
A quarter past eight, and nothing happened.

Half-past--and more signs of life appeared from the bedroom regions.

The next member of the family who came downstairs was Mr.Andrew Vanstone, the master of the house.
Tall, stout, and upright--with bright blue eyes, and healthy, florid complexion--his brown plush shooting-jacket carelessly buttoned awry; his vixenish little Scotch terrier barking unrebuked at his heels; one hand thrust into his waistcoat pocket, and the other smacking the banisters cheerfully as he came downstairs humming a tune--Mr.Vanstone showed his character on the surface of him freely to all men.