distinctive feature of my race. My governor
was a nineteen stun-er; my mother was likewise
a stunner, and her name was Lambert; she
was descended from the illustrious Daniel, and I
have in my possession the very last coat and
waistcoat worn by that greatest of living men."

"I have always heard that your mother was
very beautiful," I remarked.

"She was so fair," returned Bob, in his
sentimental tones, "that it seemed impossible there
could ever be too much of her. It did,
however, become expensive, when it took three
people to place her in her garden-chair! My
good mother, you are aware, was not of ducal
extraction. She had occupied that position
which society, in its careless, generalising way,
has agreed to call a 'cook.' In her case, it was
the poetry of feeding. In her hands, the gross
elements with which it was necessary to deal,
changed, without the loss of any nutritive
feature, into flowers and sunshine. My father
married her by accident."

"By accident?"

"Pure toss-up," said Bobby, descending
suddenly to prose. "The governor was spoony
on a girl of the neighbourhood. Popped. She
refused. Governor galloped home in a rage,
vowing he would marry whichever of his maid
servants opened the door to him. (Nota-bene.
There was at the time a pretty little rustic, the
gardener's daughter, who did occasional duty as
portress.) Fate decreed that Susanna Lambert
should be sweeping the hall. That young lady
opened the door; and that young lady became
my honoured parent.

"George," continued Bobby, rising and
standing in an easy attitude with his back to the
fire, and his coat-tails over his arms, "I take
after my sire. I am, I own it, susceptible. I
am what is popularly (but absurdly) termed, 'in
love.' To speak more logically, love, sir, hath
dwelt in me, from the moment at which the most
dazzling face imagination can conceive, looked
suddenly round the partition of box B, at the
Haymarket Theatre, gazed straight at me, and
disappeared. There were two other objects in
that box—human, probably—I did not note. I
was conscious of but one fact; that there,
within nine inches of my right elbow, sat the
Fate of Robert Bigge."

Bob paused, applied his handkerchief to his
features, and resumed.

"The play, Hamlet, was, on that evening,
prolonged to an indefinite extent. There were,
I should say, nineteen acts, with musical
interruptions of moderate duration. At the conclusion,
I held a conference with the box-keeper
touching box B. 'The Countess de Clerville
and party.' Need I mention that I watched
that box? Forth she came, leaning gracefully
on the arms of her two companions. The ample
folds of a rich burnous concealed her delicate
form, but revealed the exquisite little foot that
bore her to the awaiting carriage. I flung
myself into the nearest Hansom. 'Follow that
carriage. Not too closely!' I shouted through
the little hole, as our horse began nibbling at
the retreating calves of the countess's footman.
We took the direction of the Regent's Park.
In Portland-place a sudden pull up nearly flung
me on the horse's tail. The carriage had stopped
at one of the doors, and my donkey of a driver
all but ran into it.

"It was, however, only one of the companions
who alighted—when the carriage, turning sharply
to the right, led us to a street in the immediate
vicinity of Russell-square, 'at last,' I thought,
'I have thee!' Foiled again! The surviving
companion got out, waving respectful adieus,
and once more the carriage proceeded. Returning
towards the Regent's Park, we skirted that
beautiful enclosure on the Hampstead side,
made a turn or two, and had reached a place
called, I observed, Nasturtium Villas, when my
cabman suddenly pulled tip, and shouted down
the orifice, 'I say, sir, would you mind 'aving
another cab?' 'Nonsense!' I bellowed back.
'Get on, confound you! You'll lose.' ''Tell'ee
what,' said the cabman. 'I can't go on this
'ere game all night. This 'ere 'oss 'e 'asn't 'ad
'is supper, nor I an't 'ad mine. Oss won't go
no furder.'

"It certainly appeared so, and the upshot
was that I found myself alone on foot, at half-
past two in the morning, lurking in the
neighbourhood of Nasturtium Villas, with as much
hope of getting a cab as if I were on the banks
of Newfoundland.

"How I got home I hardly know. I do know,
however, that this failure by no means blunted
my purpose. No Countess de Clerville appeared
in the Court Guide. I therefore, on the very
next day, repaired to Nasturtium Villas, and
took up the scent where I had lost it. In that
locality I was positive my beautiful fawn had
run to covert. An intelligent-looking crossing-
sweeper attracted my eye:

"'Did she, hem, know any of the residents
in Nasturtium Villas?'

"'Yes, a plenty. Mrs. Biblicott.'

"'Nobody else?'

"'Yes, Mrs. Jones.'

"'Had she ever heard the name of the
Countess of Clerville?'

"'What name, please?'

"'Clerville.'

"'Knows her very well. A very nice lady,
giv' her tea-leaves. She was hunder 'ousemaid
at number seventeen.'

"'Who?'

"'Kearwell, Susan Kearwell.'

"'Ridiculous!' The donation I made to this
interesting person would not place her in absolute
independence of her crossing.

"In vain I pursued my inquiries. No
Countess of Clerville could I hear of, in that or
any other neighbourhood.

"It was about this time that you must have
noticed a marked change in my demeanour. In
spite of much bodily exercise, as well as mental
agitation, neither of which tends much to
corpulence, I found myself, George, becoming fatter
and fatter every hour. Living on the one
hope;—that of once more seeing her who was