‘Now then,’ to the guests, ‘sit down and be comfortable. Justice will be here directly. Barret don’t much like all these animals, but Lord bless your souls! I can’t do without them. My canary died,’ she sniffled and wiped nose and eyes on the back of her hand. ‘He got poisoned by the monkey, I suspect, who fed him on scraps of green paper picked off the wall. One must love! But it comes expensive. They make us pay damages wherever we stay. They charge things to our darlings I swear they never did. The manager is as meek as Moses, and he bears like a miller’s ass. Here he comes—I know his sweet step. Don’t look at me. I’ll sit with my back to you, baby is fidgety.’ Then entered the manager, Mr. Justice Barret, a quiet man with a pasty face. ‘That’s him,’ exclaimed the wife, ‘I said so. I knew his step. I adore him. He is a genius. I love him—even his pimples. One must love. Now—don’t mind me.’ The good-natured creature carried off her baby into a corner, and seated herself with it on a stool: the monkey followed her, knowing that he was not appreciated by the manager, and seated himself beside her, also with his back to the company, and was engrossed in her proceedings with the baby. Mr. Justice Barret had a bald head, he was twice his wife’s age, had a very smooth face shining with soap. His hands were delicate and clean. He wore polished boots, and white cravat, and a well-brushed black frock-coat. How he managed in a menagerie of children and animals to keep himself tidy was a wonder to the company. ‘O Barret dear!’ exclaimed his lady, looking over her shoulder, and the monkey turned its head at the same time. ‘I’ve had a jolly row with the landlady over that sheet to which I set fire.’ ‘My dear,’ said the manager, ‘how often have I urged you not to learn your part on the bed with the candle by your side or in your hand? You will set fire to your precious self some day.’ ‘About the sheet, Barret,’ continued his wife; ‘I’ve paid for it, and have torn it into four. It will make pocket-handkerchiefs for you, dear.’ ‘Rather large?’ asked the manager deferentially. ‘Rather, but that don’t matter. Last longer before coming to the wash, and so save money in the end.’ The manager was now at length able to reach and shake hands with Eve and Jasper. ‘Bless me, my dear child,’ he said to the former, ‘you remind me wonderfully of your mother. How is she? I should like to see her again. A sad pity she ever gave up the profession. She had the instincts of an artiste in her, but no training, horribly amateurish; that, however, would rub off.’ ‘She is dead,’ answered Eve. ‘Did you not know that?’ ‘Dead!’ exclaimed the manager. ‘Poor soul! so sweet, so simple, so right-minded. Dead, dead! Ah me! the angels go to heaven and the sinners are left. Did she remain with your father, or go home to her own parents?’ ‘I thought,’ said Eve, much agitated, ‘that you could have told me concerning her.’ ‘I!’ Mr. Justice Barret opened his eyes wide. ‘I!’