them. I used to have them, getting up in the
morning after the mess, I declare to goodness,
ready to cut my throat from the Lows. But it
went off after a chop, or, if that failed, a nip of
good old cognac.”

CHAPTER XIV. THE FIRST DINNER.

THE day at last arrived—Monday. The grave
menials of state who “attended” in the City, at
Mansion House and Guildhall, were in waiting.
They smiled, those portly men, at this little
effort, as compared with the gigantic festivals
they were accustomed to. Their chubby fingers
were used to the handling of solid wrought gold
and silver. The glories of the Egyptian
Hall were what they were accustomed to,
and therefore, when Mr. Bowler characterised
Mr. Tillotson’s party as “a little effort,”
he might be reasonably pardoned. These
gentlemen rather looked down on the West-
end waiters, who in their turn despised the
coarse unadorned sumptuousness of their City
brethren.

Mr. Tillotson was kept at his bank a little
later than usual. Mrs. Tillotson at first, from
the mere novelty, took some little interest in
what was going on. But, after a time, Mr.
Bowler, who had come early to have “a general
hi to the ’ole,” which consisted in languidly
laying his head on one side, and taking slant
views along the table, hinted that any assistance
of the sort, however well meant, only disturbed
his imagination. Then she went up to her
organ, and the rich melody came floating down
to the hall on Mr. Bowler’s ears, who said, en
passant, that it was “fair, fair and ladylike.”

As she played on, some one came and called,
and an assistant told her that there was a gentleman
below that wished to see Mr. Tillotson “particular
and important.” This sort of importunity
always gave her a shock and chill, for it was
associated with messages from Mr. Grainger.

She sent down word as to the time when Mr.
Tillotson would be in. Then came a reply to
know if she was sure; for the matter was “very
particular.”

After this she sat at her harmonium thoughtfully,
smoothing the golden hair, and not playing.
So the day went by until five o’clock
drew near, when she wondered that Mr.
Tillotson had not returned.

Suddenly she was roused by the tall gaunt
figure of Martha Malcolm standing before her.

“The gentleman that was here before was
below.”

Mrs. Tillotson desired her to tell him that
Mr. Tillotson had not come home yet.

Martha stood there gauntly. “He was told
that,” she said, “and hasn’t gone.”

Her mistress then said that she must tell
some of the men to see him.

“He is in the study, sitting down,” said
Martha, in the same tone, “and he said your
husband would know in good time the rights of
his coming and going. I only repeat what he
said.”

Again Mrs. Tillotson felt the chill and dread
she had felt before, and did not answer. Martha
went down. After a few minutes’ pause her
mistress rose and went down also, slowly.

In the study, sitting in her husband’s chair,
was a short, red-cheeked man, rather shabbily
dressed, stout, and dissipated-looking, with weak
eyes, and two red rings under them. He only
half rose as she entered. “Well, what message
do you bring me? No more hunting me about
from post to pillar. I’ve had too much and
more of that. Oh! are you Mrs. Tillotson?
Beg pardon. But my eyes are not of the
best.”

She stood before him, almost haughtily.
“What do you want?” she said. “We are busy
to-day. My husband will not be in for some
time. Could you come in the morning?”

“No, I can’t,” he answered, bluntly.
“Nothing of the sort. All that sort of business
is gone and over now. It did very well till
lately; but we have done with it. I have
suffered enough. But everybody gets their
innings at last, madam.”

“I don’t understand you,” she said, “or to
what you allude. I must really ask you to go.
If you have any business——”

“And you don’t know or guess? Really now,
would you have me believe that? You, wife of
his bosom, bone of the bone, and all that.
Shove me out, the day you are giving a dinner,
with the smell of the stews coming up. Call
the police, perhaps. I shouldn’t be surprised if
that was the next step. Then,” he added, with
great deliberation, “I should really wish to see
that attempted, just for curiosity, eh? Come,
my dear madam,” said he, rising, “I want to
see him; where is he? For I leave town, and I
can tell you he wouldn’t like to miss seeing me,
a friend that he hasn’t set eyes upon for fifteen
years.”

She was growing nervous. An undefined
terror was filling her. “I don’t understand;
what can you want? Do go away, or he will
be here presently.”

The other fell back laughing. “Ah, no
more acting. You have done it well, so far.
Of course he has told you about me—
Eastwood.”

“Never,” she said, eagerly. “I never heard
your name. Go away, do, whatever you mean.
You will only worry and annoy him, and he has
enough on his mind. I can get you money; but
go.”

The other shook his head. “As for money,
that will come by-and-by. Now, somehow,
I believe you do know nothing;” and he
looked at her for a moment with a puzzled air,
and half irresolute. Suddenly he stood up.
“Well, after all, I believe I am an intruder
here, and shall take myself off. There, that’s
behaving like a gentleman. Admit that. Fact
is, no wonder you could know nothing, for
there is nothing to know. And so you wish
me to go?”

“Yes,” she said, eagerly, “nothing so much.
Please.”