It was not without a very great deal of trouble that Mr. Pringle had induced his friend Prescott to accompany him to Saxe-Coburg Square. Even after that gentleman had given a reluctant consent he withdrew it, and on the very morning of the reception Mr. Pringle was not aware whether or not he should have to go alone. For Mr. Prescott was very much in love with Kate Mellon still: that interview in the Park had by no means had the effect of curing him of his passion; although, being a sensible young fellow, he saw that there was not the slightest use in giving way to it. "He's a thoroughly changed buffer, is Jim, sir!" Mr. Pringle would remark of him; "he used to be the cheeriest of birds; always good for going out some where, and no end of fun; always in tip-top spirits, and the best chap out. But now he sits in his chambers, and smokes his pipe, and grizzles himself to death, pretty near; wishing he'd got more money, and all sorts of things. That won't do, you know! He must be picked up and trotted out; and the man for that line of business is yours truly." In pursuance of which determination Mr. Pringle opened a system of attack on his friend, and in the first place insisted that they should go together to Mr. Schröder's reception. Even at the last, when Prescott gave in his final consent, it was under strong protest. "I shall be dreary, old boy; and you'll be sorry you took me. You know I'm not very good company just now, George. I've not got over--" "All right; I know. 'Tell me, my heart, can this be?' &c. But we'll have some dinner at Simpson's, and a bottle of old port; and that'll set you up, and make you see life under a different aspect, as they say in novels." The dinner was very good; and finding his friend still silent and low-spirited, Mr. Pringle exerted himself to rouse him. He was very well known at the dining-rooms, and called the waiters by their Christian names, and asked after their families, and little events in their private lives.