“Hurra!” cried Miss Wilhelmina, starting from her seat, and giving Flora such a hearty embrace that she nearly choked her. “I never thought of that possibility before. Yes—yes; he had money in his little purse. I have no doubt that, on missing me, he returned by the road we had travelled to his native place. That demon won’t haunt my dreams again. But here comes the coffee, and Miss Turner’s delicious cakes and home-made bread and butter. I hope you are fond of coffee, my dear? I detest tea;—it is a sort of nervous, maudlin, sick-chamber trash, only fit for old maids and milk-and-water matrons.” “I prefer coffee,” said Flora. “I have quite an Asiatic taste in that respect.” “Don’t talk of Asiatic coffee,” said Wilhelmina: “wait till you have tasted it. The nauseous stuff! I have drank enough of it at Constantinople, but never could get it down without a grimace. I have it made in the French style.” The coffee and cakes were served on a small silver tray, which was placed on the table between them. The coffee was fragrant and exhilarating; the bread and butter and cakes richly deserved the praise Miss Wilhelmina had bestowed upon them. Flora had dined early, and did justice to them. “I like to see a person enjoy their meals,” said Miss Carr. “I hate affectation in eating, as much as I hate affectation in speech. Some mince with their food as if they were ashamed of putting a morsel into their mouths before people. They ask for the least piece of this, and for an imaginary crumb of that; and make their entertainers uncomfortable by their ridiculous fastidiousness; while, if we could see these very delicate masticators in their own homes, perhaps we should find them grumbling for Benjamin’s share of the daily meal. For my own part, I always eat in public as if no eye was upon me, and do it in a hearty, natural way. You may be sure, when you see persons, whether male or female, give themselves great airs at table, that they have never been used to good society at home.” Flora thought there was a great deal of truth in some of Wilhelmina’s remarks. But she felt that it would be dangerous to take the doings of such an odd mortal for precedents in any case; and she was justified in her opinion by Miss Carr, the moment the table was cleared, calling for hot water, brandy, and wine. “Do you smoke?” she cried, producing a box of cigars from the closet, and a long Turkish pipe. Then, drawing down the window-curtains, she tucked her legs under her upon the sofa, and commenced filling, from a beautiful inlaid silver box, her hooker, with its finely-ornamented bowl and amber mouthpiece. Flora looked her astonishment, as she said,— “Miss Carr, do you _really_ smoke?” “Do I know what is good?” said Wilhelmina. “Did you never see a woman smoke before?” “Yes, Irish barrow-women in London; and I thought it odd, even for them.”