“He is attached to you, eh? Worships the
ground you walk on? Has the carpet taken up
and put by for a relic?”

“Yes, yes. But pray, pray go.”

“Ah,” said the other, taking his hat. “Shame
for him if he wasn’t fond of you. There, don’t
think of it any more. What would you say to
his owing me a hundred and two pound ten for
fifteen years, and never paying even a pound’s
interest—supposing that is what I want from
him? And when I hear of dinners, and plate, and
a bank, it’s only natural a man should cut up
rough at such treatment. I beg your pardon,”
he added, obsequiously. “I really do, for
intruding. I can see him any time, so don’t
mention it to him, nor yet my name—Blackwood.
Good-bye, Mrs. Tillotson; good-bye,
and forgive me.”

He went out, leaving her in a state of wonder
and stupefaction. There was something half
jest, half earnest, in the man’s manner, which
she could not understand. That sudden
change, too, puzzled her. But she dismissed
it all, and said to herself, wearily, “What do
all these things mean?”

In half an hour Mr. Tillotson came home.
She cleared her brow, and smoothed her hair,
as she heard his step. Both faces went through
the same process; both approached each other
with weariness underneath, but with a
cheerfulness that was put on. Both saw what
was under each assumed cheerfulness, and
went away to dress; for the hour was at
hand.

A picket of the City gentlemen was in the
hall when the company began to arrive. They
at once stood to their arms. No need of asking
names. Mr. Bowler knew well the figure of
Mr. Bunnett, the famous “Ryder, Bunnet, and
Ryder,” whose plate he had removed deftly at
a hundred feasts. So, too, with the form of
“the great Lackson,” before whom he all but
grovelled. After all, should adversity overtake
any one of us who are asked out to dinners, could
there be a more agreeable retreat discovered, or
line of life in which we can honestly make our
bread, than the career of a waiter in good and
choice practice? We should see the best of
society, breathe the air of refined life, have a
certain amusement in watching the manners and
customs of those above us, and, what is a more
costly delectation, enjoy as a sort of perquisite
and without impeachment of dishonesty, some
share of the rich meats and juices, the select
wines, which are set forward for the
entertainment of our betters. Why do not reduced
gentlemen take to this pleasing occupation?

Mrs. Tillotson, soft and brilliant, yet with a
little wistful and almost anxious look, stood in
her drawing-room waiting for the guests. The
golden hair glistened under the wax-lights: an
air of wonderful sweetness hung about her.
Was she a little nervous about this, her first
party? which, as Mr. Bowler remarked with
truth during the day, was a thing to lie on any
“lady or gent’s sperits, be they ever so high or
so low. It always took ’im short,” he said, “at
the Manshun ’Us until all was well through, and
his ’ed was a laying on his bed.”

The great Lackson, for a man so much at
ease in finance, was anything but at home in
social life. He called Mrs. Tillotson “marm,”
and seemed to be taking half a turn ahead or
astern across the rug with such heavy motion
both of speed and tongue, that one looked for
the sound of splashing paddles. Mrs. Tillotson
gave him gentle welcome, which only
disarranged him more. Then came Ross and his
friend—Ross more flushed and wild-eyed than
usual, with cheek-bones more hot and projecting;
but still with a ferocious handsomeness
upon him. His friend Grainger was submissive,
quiet, and respectful, as usual. But something
more cheerful made its appearance in the shape
of Mr. Bunnett and Mrs. Bunnett, of the City,
who came in jovially, and appeared to have
broken out all over into broad smiles. They
came in arm in arm; clean, resplendent, and
burnished all over. After them arrived
Nelgrove, an ecclesiastical-looking City man; and
the captain, who had declared some days before
that it was high time for him “to treat himself
to a dress-coat of the very tip-top fashion, just
as he had treated himself to a “frock” on the
occasion of the wedding, appeared in it,
conscious, but shy.

In due time the company went down and sat
at dinner. The gorgeous plateau and candelabra
presented by the grateful shareholders
glittered on the table. At first, Mr. Bowler
and his following stood behind, awfully, like
guards at a stage execution; but presently, after
the solemn raising of the first cover, became
galvanised into violent life and motion. The cheerful
Bunnett, whose mouth distended between his
collars like a gate between two white walls,
chatted heartily, as he settled himself to enjoy
the meal. The great Lackson was still ill at
ease, and uncomfortable. Ross, who had taken
down Miss Bunnett (Mrs. Bunnett was on his
left), had a sneer as broad as Mr. Bunnett’s
gate on his face. His eyes were bright, and
roamed over the table.

“Lovely, ain't it,” said she to him—“the
plattoe?”

“Exquisite,” said Ross, looking at it. “That’s
what they gave him—superb. It makes one
gasp. Don't you admire it? When will they
give you or me anything of this sort? I don’t
say, when shall we deserve it.’

Grainger had drifted up somehow next to
Mrs. Tillotson. Under the soft lights in the
shareholders’ candelabra the golden hair was a
feast to look on. Mrs. Lackson had been
taken in by Mr. Tillotson. The captain was
next to Mr. Nelgrove, who, however, made
small account of him, being apparently a
worshipper of Mr. Bunnett. Anything more
slavish than this almost adoration of the City
man could scarcely have been conceived; and
it was accompanied with a pleasant badinage
and rallying. Mr. Nelgrove spoke of his friend
usually as “he.”

“Mrs. Tillotson—I say, Mrs. Tillotson, he’s a