"Well, I don't know," said Gunter One; "for a light-bodied tawny wine, it's fairish." "I think I'll take another glass," Mr Bokes, said Gunter Two, Gunter One following his example; and the butler filled their glasses, not forgetting his own; after which there was a discussion upon crust, and bees-wing, and vine-disease, when Mr Bokes dropt a hint about the finest glass of Madeira to be had in or out of London being likely to be on the way when the dinner was over. The conversation was stopped by the ringing of a bell, and as James, footman, and Thomas, under-butler, were busy over other matters, Mr Bokes went to respond to the summons. Five minutes had elapsed before the butler returned, in time to find the bottle perfectly empty, and the Gunters smacking their lips over the last drops in their glasses; when, no more being forthcoming, the gentlemen in white returned to the kitchen, sufficiently good-humoured for Number One to smile affably upon the cook, and Number Two to address the kitchenmaid as "My dear," in asking for a wooden spoon. The full resources of the Norwood establishment were brought out that night, and Jared Pellet of Duplex Street would have looked less dreamy, and rubbed his eyes, as he turned from the duet he was having with Monsieur Canau, with Janet, little Pine, and Patty for audience, could he have seen the dinner served in a dining-room that sparkled with candles, plate, and glass. Even the most ill-disposed of the guests acknowledged the repast to be a success, that is, as far as appearances went. There was only one failure--the smash made by one of the men of a dish of meringues, leaving a blank place upon the table. Wines, ices, attendance, all were good. There could not be a doubt of Mr Richard Pellet's wealth, nor of the high position he occupied, not only in the city, but in the pleasant suburban district of Norwood. The ladies had risen, and, amidst a pleasant rustling of silks, swept up-stairs; the gentlemen had drawn their chairs nearer together for the convenient passage of port-decanter and claret-jug, when Mr Bokes, the Norwood Pharaoh's chief butler, whispered to his master that he was wanted. "Indeed," said Mr Richard Pellet, loudly, for he was delivering his opinion upon City affairs, "unless a similar crisis should arise, I give you my word of honour that it must be--Now, Bokes," in an undertone, "what is it? What the deuce do you mean--at such a time? Who wants me?" "Tall, stout woman, sir." "Lady?" "No, not lady--woman, sir. Says she must see you, sir." "Must!" exclaimed Richard, scowling. "Yes, sir, and will." "Tell her to call to-morrow; I'm engaged." Mr Bokes bowed and left the room, and his master continued--