sordid garments had a musty smell. She
piteously besought the strange lady to take her
out, promising to be very good and quiet if she
would only take her away from that dreadful
place.

"You are a little fool," said the lady. " La
vue de ces marauds-là m'a donné de l'appétit."
And then, with a sharp "Come along," she led
the way out of the Chamber of Horrors. " Now,"
she said, when they had entered another hackney-
coach, " we are going to dinner, and mind you
are very good, or the sweep shall come and eat
you."

Lily was too big to believe in any apocryphal
devouring propensities attributed to the harmless,
albeit unwashed, individual who carries the
soot-bag; but the lady was so very strange,
and, at times, so very fierce-looking, that she
thought it not at all improbable that she herself,
failing the sweep, could have done something
in the child-devouring way. So Lily
bowed her head, and tried to look as good as
she felt.

It was a very long way to dinner. They went
through a number of brilliant crowded streets,
of which she did not know the names; but they
were Oxford-street, Regent-street, and the
Strand. Then they walked down a narrow
street on to a narrow pier by the water-side.
Then a man called out " Greenwich!" and
they went on board a steam-boat, where, to
Lily's delight, they remained a whole hour.
The ships, the wherries, the wharves, the distant
steeples, the bridges, the blue dome of Paul's,
the towering Monument, the grey old Tower,
filled her soul with joy. She forgot how
frightened she was at the strange lady. She
forgot how hungry she was, and was quite
happy.

"To-morrow," said the strange lady, as they
landed on the pier at Greenwich, and Lily
followed her to a large handsome house, " to-
morrow you will go to school."

"Not to-day, ma'am?" asked the child.
"What will Mrs. Bunnycastle say?"

"Mrs. Bunnycastle," returned the lady, "is
a ridiculous old sheep. You are not going back
to her, but to another school, where you will be
taught to be very sage, and to behave yourself."

The child was amazed, and lapsed into silence.

"What are you thinking of?" the lady asked,
as they ascended the steps of the large
handsome house.

"I was thinking, ma'am," Lily answered,
"of what a curious smell of hot fish there was,
everywhere."

CHAPTER XXI. LILY IS REGALED ON WHITEBAIT.

A BURST of laughter broke from a balcony
overhead as Lily and her protectress entered the
large handsome mansion; and the child, looking
upward, could see a number of gentlemen
congregated outside, who were leaning over
the railings, and were very grandly dressed,
and appeared to be enjoying themselves very
much.

"By Jove!" cried one of the gentlemen —
but this Lily could not hear— "she's come!"

"And brought the little one with her, too.
She said she would; for propriety's sake."

"I wonder whether she will oblige us with a
rapid act of horsemanship round the room, after
dinner."

"It's more likely that she will fly into one of
her passions, and fling the water souché, plates
and all, at the waiters' heads."

"Or at us."

"I've seen her do something very nearly approaching
that. Once, at the Star and Garter,
she grew jealous of somebody, and tried to
strangle herself with a table napkin."

"Pretty little thing, the girl."

"Her daughter, possibly. Tigresses have
cubs, sometimes."

"Hush! here's the tigress herself.— Countess,
how delighted we all are to see you!"

The Countess and Lily were received at the
door of the mansion which smelt so strongly of
warm fish, by a stout gentleman in a blue coat
and buff waistcoat, whose chief aim and end in
life appeared to be to show to every visitor how
white, smooth, and polished, the centre of his
bald head was, and how perfectly joined the
sutures of his skull were. He was continually
bowing at, not to, the visitors of the establishment
of which he was the respected landlord —
he has been dead many years, and his name, I
beg to observe, was neither Hart nor Quartermaine
— and he butted at you, so to speak, with
his baldness, like an affable albino. The pacific
nature of his mission was manifested by the
snowy flag of truce which he continually waved.
This flag was not precisely a napkin— that would
have been too much like a waiter — nor a pocket-
handkerchief— that would have been too much
like a dandy — but a combination of the two: a
cross between cambric and damask. But he
ever waved it in peace and amity, as though to
say, " Be not afeard. This is the habitation of
fish and of felicity. Let no cares sit behind your
chairs. I know all my customers and respect
them. If you do not choose to pay the bill on
the spot, you can send me down a cheque by the
post, or by your body-servant at your convenience:
only, don't dispute my charges, for that would
hurt my feelings. This is not a vulgar cook-shop.
Last week I entertained his Majesty's ministers.
We don't want common people here. Let them
go up the town, towards the Park, and have tea
and shrimps for ninepence. Here, we desire
the attendance of the superior classes only.
Walk in, walk in, ladies and gentlemen. This
is feeding time; and the bait is in excellent
condition."

If a trader resolutely make up his mind
definitively to address himself to the " superior
classes," and if he carry out his intent with
tact and nerve, he shall scarcely fail, I take
it, to achieve success. The superior classes
reward that tailor who boldly says, " Let others
vaunt their sixteen-shilling garments: no puff