Billy was quite taken aback. If he had been captivated in the coach what chance had he now, with all the aid of dress, scenery, and decorations. He thought he had never seen such a beauty—he thought he had never seen such a bust—he thought he had never seen such an arm! Miss Titterton—pooh!—wasn’t to be mentioned in the same century—hadn’t half such a waist. “Won’t you be seated?” at length asked Miss Willing, as Billy still stood staring and making a mental inventory of her charms. “Seat”—(puff)—“seat” (wheeze), gasped Billy, looking around at the shining amber-coloured magnificence by which he was surrounded, as if afraid to venture, even in his nice salmon-coloured shorts. At length he got squatted on a gilt chair by his charmer’s side, when taking to look at his toes, she led off the ball of conversation. She had had enough of the billing and cooing or gammon and spinach of matrimony, and knew if she could not bring him to book at once, time would not assist her. She soon probed his family circle, and was glad to find there was no “mamma” to “ask,” that dread parent having more than once been too many for her. She took in the whole range of connection with the precision of an auctioneer or an equity draftsman. There was no occasion for much diplomacy on her part, for Billy came into the trap just like a fly to a “Ketch-’em-alive O!” The conversation soon waxed so warm that she quite forgot to ring for the tea; and Ben, who affected early hours in the winter, being slightly asthmatical, as a hall-porter ought to be, at length brought it in of his own accord. Most polite he was; “My lady” and “Your ladyship-ing” Miss Willing with accidental intention every now and then, which raised Billy’s opinion of her consequence very considerably. And so he sat, and sipped and sipped, and thought what a beauty she would be to transfer to Doughty Street. Tea, in due time, was followed by the tray—Melton pie, oysters, sandwiches, anchovy toast, bottled stout, sherry and Seltzer water, for which latter there was no demand.