"I allow," said Mr. Mangles, slowly, "that at this hour in the morning
it appears to be a one-horse country. You want your breakfast, Jooly?"

"Breakfast will not put two horses to it, Joseph," replied Miss Mangles,
looking not at her brother, but at the imposing hotel concierge with a
bland severity indicative of an intention of keeping him strictly in his
place.

Miss Netty quietly relieved her aunt of the small impedimenta of travel,
with a gentle deference which was better than words. Miss Cahere seemed
always to know how to say or do the right thing, or, more difficult
still, to keep the right silence. Either this, or the fact that Miss
Mangles was conscious of having convinced her hearers that she was as
expert in the lighter swordplay of debate as in the rolling platform
period, somewhat alleviated the lady's humor, and she turned towards the
historic staircase, which had run with the blood of Jew and Pole, with a
distinct air of condescension.

"Tell me," said Mr. Joseph Mangles to the concierge, in a voice of deep
depression which only added to the incongruity of his French, "what
languages you speak."

"Russian, French, Polish, German, English--"

"That'll do to go on with," interrupted Mangles, in his own tongue.
"We'll get along in English. My name is Mangles."

Whereupon the porter bowed low, as to one for whom first-floor rooms and
a salon had been bespoken, and waved his hand towards the stairs, where
stood a couple of waiters.