"Perhaps once too often!" exclaimed Harry, impetuously, for he could not control the passion within him. As Lionel spoke, each word seemed to be freighted with bitterness, armed with a sting and a sense of misery such as he had never before felt, and which seemed to crush down his spirit. Visions of Patty smiling welcome upon Lionel floated before him, filling him with a new feeling of rage; and it was all he could do to hide it from his companion, who began to whistle, and then said lightly-- "Perhaps so--perhaps so! As you say, I may go there once too often; but that's my business, Master Harry, and nothing to do with reading classics. What a cad!" he exclaimed, as he returned the fierce look bestowed upon him by a heavy-browed young fellow in a sleeved waistcoat; nodded familiarly to the policeman; and then, making a point of coolly and insolently returning every loiterer's stare, he passed on out of the region of the Decadian, thinking all the same, though, of Patty. Volume 1, Chapter XXVII. AN ALARM. Mrs Winks was bound under contract to spend the next day at Duplex Street; but she made known just now her presence in the Dials, being busy enough in the lower regions of D. Wragg's; for the smoke and steam of her copper altar, erected to the goddess of cleanliness, rose through the house, to be condensed in a dewy clamminess upon handrail and paint. It was the incense that rose thickly to the nostrils when she stuck in a wooden probe to fish up boiling garments for purification's sake. The inhabitants of D. Wragg's dwelling took but little notice of Mrs Winks' washing-days, inasmuch as they were inured to them by their frequency. D. Wragg, though, must be excepted; for when some bird would sneeze and evince a dislike to the odorous moist vapour, he called to mind the deaths of three valuable cochins by croup--a catarrh-like distemper which, with or without truth, he laid to the charge of Mrs Winks' washing. So that good lady busied herself over what she called her own and Monsieur Canau's "toots,"--meaning thereby divers calico undergarments-- till her playbill curl-papers grew soft in the steam. Mrs Winks was interrupted but once, when, aroused by the plunging in of the copper-stick and an extra cloud from the sacrifice, D. Wragg stamped with his heavy boot upon the shop-floor, and shouted an inquiry as to how long Mrs Winks would be before she was done, and whether she knew that there was company in the house? To this query the stout lady returned the very vague response of "Hours!" For D. Wragg was now shop-minding, and, as he called it, busy--that is to say, he was going over his stock, stirring up sluggish birds with a loose perch, administering pills composed of rue and butter to sickly bantams, which sat in a heap with feathers erect, and refusing to be smoothed down.