and met the City gentlemen with the City ladies
on their arms, the conversation, flagging a little
as it sometimes did, recovered animation by an
allusion to the shrubs "got up from Bulmer." An
alcove had been thrown out from the windows,
all but masked by profuse shrubbery from
Bulmer; and here, apparently as from a grove, came
the strains of "Vöst's" band, the sad and winding
valse, the brisk galop, and the more
measured quadrille. It was remarkable about these
melodies that they were all from the inspiration
of "Vöst" himself, his musicians not being able
to deal with other music.

Now came in Mr. and Mrs. Tillotson, the
City exquisites, some of them of a rich Jewish
tone in their faces, turning to study the brilliant
lady who stood there. Excellent foils, indeed,
were the stout, magnificent, but vulgar City
dames who herded together. Mr. Bunnett
came to meet them with a little pride; for they
were a link between West and East Ends. The
heavy yellow hair of Mrs. Tillotson glistened in
the lights, and the little tinge of sadness in her
face added to her beauty. But for such men as
Mr. Bunnett, who were well meaning and good
natured, she always had a sort of charity.

"You must show me your charming rooms,"
she said, kindly. "I hear everything is done
with such wonderful taste."

Mrs. Bunnett, had she been by, would have
preferred a compliment to the lavish magnificence
of everything. As it was, Mr. Nelgrove
was close behind.

"Poor Bulmer," he said. "Mrs. Tillotson,
I suppose he hasn't left a twig in it. It's a
howling wilderness at this moment, stripped
right and left. I suppose to-morrow he could
find a single geranium leaf—eh? You know
it's true, Bunnett."

That gentleman smiled at this flattery.
"There's enough left to get you a booky, Mrs.
Tillotson."

The great Lackson was there, looking like an
overgrown butler. He was principally in a
corner all the night with some members of the
board. "I go out to parties for business,"
he said, with a fair attempt at epigram, "and
go to the office for pleasure." He had a
"great thing coming out," and which he was
hinting at all the night. It was seen by his
face that he was hugging himself over this
secret, and great exertions were made to extract
it from him. He was implored, beseeched. A
Jewish friend or two became almost pathetic.
At last, in a corner, he consented to hint at a
sort of outline. At Madrid, a scheme had been
formed for a central railway station. Daring
companies were to bring all the lines together
in a focus, and "a concession" had been
secured, but this was all "dark," it would be
understood. His society, the Universal Railway
Roofing Company, were to have the job—a roof
that would make all men gasp. Seven railways
were to meet, the whole to be in the form of a
star-fish or fan. So many thousand tons of
iron to be employed. A government guarantee
was in treaty; but that, on the whole, would
rather hamper them. The thing was, which
company was to "bring it out." One, whose
name he imparted under the back of his hand,
were making stupendous offers; but then he
felt that he—though not the Universal Railway
Roofing Company—was bound more or less to
the Foncier. However, they could talk of that
again.

The night meanwhile was speeding on. Supper
had set in, which was another field of
display for magnificence. Nelgrove's voice was
heard in the crowd that was battling to get to
the table. "Those pheasants all came up from
Bulmer this morning. D'ye see that melon?
it's not a pumpkin, I can assure you. He got
that up from Bulmer, grapes, everything you
see, all from Bulmer." But to the proprietor
his tone was in the old disparaging style. "I
suppose he was down at the markets himself
yesterday, trying to pick up a bird or two—a
bargain, you know. Look, Mrs. Henwitcher,
look at those peaches. He knows a lord or two
in the country, and he gets me to write to them
when he gives a party, to beg a few peaches or
so. He can't afford a hothouse at Bulmer as
yet, you know. Ha! ha!"

Mrs. Henwitcher was delighted. "Go along,"
she said. "Why, he 'ave 'ot'ouses; you know
you 'ave, Mr. Bunnett."

"O, nothing to speak of; very small. Now
this I have got, a first-rate gardener, who came
to me from Lord——"

"Get me some pheasant," said she, "like a
good creetur. I want to taste the Bulmer birds.
'Enwitcher told me he never see such a lovely
place as Bulmer. Never."

"We must get you down there, ma'am," said
Mr. Bunnett, graciously. "We have a little
wall-fruit and a few flowers. Bless me, there
are the Tillotsons going."

They were, and were paying their adieux,
Mr. Tillotson with some little exhilaration in his
face. He had overheard some of the admiration
excited by his beautiful wife. He had watched
her figure as it moved through the room. He
had seen the young officers asking to be
introduced to her. He was a little proud, and as
every fresh homage was paid to her, he had
seen that brilliant face turned towards him,
as if wishing that he should have his share
in all.

As they were getting in the carriage, he said
to her:

"I was indeed proud of you to-night. You
looked divine."

As they entered the house, Martha came to
him with "Mr. Ross has been here twice," news
hat brought a sort of chill to both their hearts.
Before the hall door was closed, they heard
hasty steps, and Ross came tramping up into
the hall. He had been walking up and down
the street, waiting for them to come in. It
was about half-past one an the morning. He
was wild-eyed as usual, and his face was flushed.

"Now," said he, "Tillotson, I have met you
at last, after a couple of hours' wait. Come