It was not very long before the repast was ready, and Bromley sat, opposite his hostess, at a little table spread with a clean cloth, decorated with some spoons rescued from Mr Commissioner, a nickel cruet-stand, and two carnations. “I do love this new Russian fashion,” observed Mrs Magens, as a species of grace. Half a lobster fell before her. “In that carpet-bag, I have ventured to bring, for Angelo, a few bottles of sherry, of a particular quality, lately sent me by some friends from the country.” “How very thoughtful! Don’t trouble yourself—allow me.” The phraseology was less flowery, and the bottle was soon uncorked. At length the meal was over. The onions had been discussed—a portion of the feast had been reserved for Angelo—another portion allotted to Jane—candles were introduced—Bromley was allowed to light a cigar, and to mix a glass of whisky and water—even Mrs Magens sipped a glass of toddy, and the room was soon as redolent as a tap. “Now, Mr Bromley, I daresay, when in that brilliant world which your position throws open to you—in that world of beauties and nobles, you often long for the repose of an evening like this, passed equably in gentle converse, and with a frugal but wholesome meal to which fatigue has lent an appetite and friendship a relish.” “Very true, Mrs Magens. And your society is especially delightful. Angelo, poor man, is deprived of it. He is very busy.” “Very much so. The Fates are propitious.” “I hope he is making a pot of money.” “Fie, what a word! Heaven ever befriends the just.” “Money is wanted at present, Mrs Magens. In these days, a man with a good income is not a rich man.” “Indeed, it is true—too true. The extravagance of the age is hawful.” Sometimes Mrs Magens was off her guard, and as uncertain about her aspirates as a beginner in the Greek tongue. “It is indeed,” answered Bromley, “awful——” “Awful,” repeated Mrs Magens, correcting herself. “Dress is ruinous for ladies.” “Yet gaudy attire is no evidence of a sound _h_eart.” The _h_ was inserted this time with a _slam_. “Very true, often the reverse; but it is no less ruinous.” “The sums lavished on it are enormous, Mr Bromley.” “I daresay many ladies in your profession spend large sums on their toilettes.” “Enormous; why, there’s Miss Sepop of the Bower has a new dress every night. Mrs Macvey of the Blackfriars is never satisfied without embroidery all round.” “Whom do you consider the best dressmaker, Mrs Magens? your taste is so good.” “Why, for myself, I should say, Madame Mélanie Mickiewicz. She is generally known as Madame Mélanie. Poor thing! She is a Hungarian princess. Her story is harrowing—harrowing—Ha’nau——” “I think I have heard it—poor thing! Do you know her?” “Intimately—a charming person—quite the lady.” “I suppose she has lots of stories—of experience.”