Another event that intruded itself on the even tenor of my ways was a letter from “Georgina”; and as the narration will involve a certain essential digression to make matters clear, I must again ask the reader’s indulgence. CHAPTER V. GEORGINA. WHO has not heard of Georgina? Ask Gounod, ask Monsieur Riviere, ask Mr. Vaughan, ask me, ask yourself, indulgent reader. I made this lady’s acquaintance some five years ago, about eleven P.M., outside Covent Garden Theatre, when she was apparently being supported by her seconds and spongeholders, after her third or fourth round (I forget which) with the “Leicester Square Pet” or the “Regent Street Chicken,” or both. I was not an eye-witness of this revival of the good old days of the ring, so my statement as to details must not be implicitly accepted. I, however, made one of an excited and surging mob, and gleaned that the cause was the fair Georgina, who had lately been “removed” from inside the theatre. In a thoughtless moment, and with an eye to business, and with the hope of turning an honest penny by taking this amiable creature into the provinces (for I dabbled in things theatrical in those days) I entered into conversation with one of her satellites, which ripened into an intimacy of the most deplorable and expensive nature, and ended in the climax that procured me a most abusive and threatening letter whilst in the House of Detention, and subsequently a visit from her on my second appearance at Bow-street, where she occupied a prominent position in the front row. Immediately, then, after this lady’s notoriety connected with the above _contretemps_, it struck me that she could not fail to “draw” in the provinces, if not on her merits as a vocalist, at least on account of her other amiable accomplishments. A series of visits to her residence ended in my securing the professional services of this inestimable treasure; and though the terms and conditions with which she hampered her agreement to accompany me on a six weeks’ tour were sufficient to have made a more experienced man hesitate, I at length consented to all she proposed, and our agreement was virtually completed. Georgina is, I should say, an implacable foe; she is also, I should fancy, a good friend until a row—an inevitable consequence—takes place. This latter characteristic showed itself on this occasion; she made it a _sine quâ non_, and refused to budge an inch unless I agreed to permit her to be accompanied by a huge French woman whom she called her companion, and a sickly youth whom she designated her secretary. I was not only to cart this worthy couple about first-class, but to pay for their board and lodgings. As the French person was as voracious as a cormorant, and as the secretary was apparently suffering from some complaint that impelled him to eat inordinately three or four times a day, and as provincial hotels are proverbially expensive when the