Mrs. Walford's letters to her daughter had hitherto been in her most enthusiastic vein. Mr. McCullough had given the disappointed bass a berth in Berlin, and in her letters this was alluded to as a "position," upon which she showered her favourite adjectives of "jolly" and "extraordinary" and "immense." Cæsar was "McCullough's right hand," the "best houses in Berlin" were open to him, and his prospects, social and financial, were dazzling. Of late, however, he had been dwelt on less, and one morning there came a letter that contained a confession of personal anxiety. The recent heavy drop in American stocks, and the failure of two or three brokers, had seriously affected the jobber. They thought of trying to let The Hawthorns, which was much too large for them now, and moving out of the neighbourhood. Cæsar remained McCullough's "right hand," but briefly; and it was evident that the writer was in great distress. Cynthia was terribly grieved and startled. She dashed off eight pages of love and inquiries by the evening mail, and when the news was confirmed, with more particulars, she felt that she could do no less than run over to utter her sympathy in person. Kent agreed that it was perhaps advisable, and raised the money that was necessary cheerfully enough by pawning his watch and chain. Only when she sent him a rather lengthy telegram from Streatham, detailing her mother's frame of mind, did he feel that she was exaggerating his share in her solicitude. The chilly salon, where the ladies played forfeits after dinner, or where the vivacious daughter thumped the piano, was not attractive during Cynthia's absence. Neither was it lively to smoke alone in his room, or to go to a theatre or a music-hall by himself; and when, in calling on Mrs. Deane-Pitt, he mentioned his loneliness and she proposed that he should take her to the Variétés, he accepted the suggestion with alacrity. As he obtained the tickets for nothing, his only expense was cabs, and the liqueurs between the facts; and it was so enjoyable, laughing with her on the lounge of the café, that the recollection of their being paid for out of the balance of his loan from the mont-de-piété was banished. Mrs. Deane-Pitt made some more of her happy remarks while they sipped the chartreuse, and her teeth and eyes flashed superbly. The piece was a great success, but Kent thought the entr'actes were even gayer. And when the curtain had fallen and they reached the avenue Wagram, she would not hear of his leaving her before going in and having some supper. His liqueurs looked very paltry to him contrasted with the table that exhibited mayonnaise and champagne, and his exhilaration was momentarily damped by envy. Fiction meant a good deal when one was lucky; how jolly to be able to live as this woman did! Her maid took away her cloak and hat, and he opened the bottle. She drew off her long gloves, and patted her hair before the mirror with fingers on which some rings shone.