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Updated: May 13, 2025
A few fashionable English /roues/ remembered to have seen, once or twice during Matilda's life, and shortly after her decease, a very fine-looking man shooting meteoric across some equivocal /salons/, or lounging in the Champs Elysees, or dining at the Cafe de Paris; but of late that meteor had vanished. Mr. Gotobed, then anxiously employing a commissioner to gain some information of Mr.
Gotobed sends his head clerk; the head clerk employs the policeman of the village; gets upon the right track; comes to the right house; and is altogether in the wrong, in a manner highly creditable to his researches. "In London, of course: all people of that kind come back to London," said Mr. Gotobed. "Give me the heads in writing, that I may report to my distinguished client. Most satisfactory.
"The feeling of the country will be altogether against you," he had said, hoping to deter the Senator. The Senator had replied that though the feeling of that little bit of the country might be against him he did not believe that such would be the case with the feeling of England generally. The ladies had all become a little afraid of Mr. Gotobed and hardly dared to express an opinion.
Gotobed had whispered to her that he had understood that they certainly were engaged; and, even before that, the names of the two lovers had been wafted to her ears from the other side of the Atlantic. Both John Morton and Lady Augustus were "somebodies," and Lady Penwether generally knew what there was to be known of anybody who was anybody.
Gotobed had come there to tell them his views, and as they had come there expressly to listen to him, they could not without impropriety interrupt him. "That such will be the feeling of the country before long," continued the Senator, "I think no one can doubt who has learned how to look to the signs of the times in such matters.
But now his gratitude for that favour was considerably abated. He did not care just now for the honour of eating his lunch in the presence of Mr. Gotobed, the American minister, whom he found there already in the drawing-room with Mrs. Gotobed, nor with Ezekiel Sevenkings, the great American poet from the far West, who sat silent and stared at him in an unpleasant way.
"They seem to get a very good living here, and they pay their rent punctually." On the Saturday morning the hounds met at the "Old Kennels," as the meet was always called, and here was an excellent opportunity of showing to Mr. Gotobed one of the great institutions of the country.
Gotobed who had just returned from a visit which he had made, the circumstances of which must be narrated in the next chapter. The Senator lifted his hat and remarked that it was a very fine afternoon. Reginald lifted his hat and assented. "Mr. Morton, Sir, I think is out with the ladies, taking a drive." "I will leave a card then."
"That's not quite so flattering, and would be killing, only that I feel that your opinion is founded on error. Mens conscia recti, Mr. Gotobed." "Exactly. I understand English pretty well; better as far as I can see than some of those I meet around me here; but I don't go beyond that, Mr. Green." "I merely meant to observe, Mr.
"I thought you'd have been tired of it by this time, Mr. Gotobed." "Tired of what?" "Tired of the wrong side, sir." "I don't know that I am on the wrong side. A man may be in the right on one point even though his life isn't all that it ought to be."
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