“The honour done is all conferred on me,” and she bowed and curtseyed with very stately grace. Each thoroughly understood the badinage of the other; and then, in a few moments, they were engaged in very easy conversation. “By-the-by, Sowerby, what do you think of this threatened dissolution?” said Tom Towers. “We are all in the hands of Providence,” said Mr. Sowerby, striving to take the matter without any outward show of emotion. But the question was one of terrible import to him, and up to this time he had heard of no such threat. Nor had Mrs. Harold Smith, nor Miss Dunstable, nor had a hundred others who now either listened to the vaticinations of Mr. Towers, or to the immediate report made of them. But it is given to some men to originate such tidings, and the performance of the prophecy is often brought about by the authority of the prophet. On the following morning the rumour that there would be a dissolution was current in all high circles. “They have no conscience in such matters; no conscience whatever,” said a small god, speaking of the giants,—a small god, whose constituency was expensive. Mr. Towers stood there chatting for about twenty minutes, and then took his departure without making his way into the room. He had answered the purpose for which he had been invited, and left Miss Dunstable in a happy frame of mind. “I am very glad that he came,” said Mrs. Harold Smith, with an air of triumph. “Yes, I am glad,” said Miss Dunstable, “though I am thoroughly ashamed that I should be so. After all, what good has he done to me or to any one?” And having uttered this moral reflection, she made her way into the rooms, and soon discovered Dr. Thorne standing by himself against the wall. “Well, doctor,” she said, “where are Mary and Frank? You do not look at all comfortable, standing here by yourself.” “I am quite as comfortable as I expected, thank you,” said he. “They are in the room somewhere, and, as I believe, equally happy.” “That’s spiteful in you, doctor, to speak in that way. What would you say if you were called on to endure all that I have gone through this evening?” “There is no accounting for tastes, but I presume you like it.” “I am not so sure of that. Give me your arm, and let me get some supper. One always likes the idea of having done hard work, and one always likes to have been successful.” “We all know that virtue is its own reward,” said the doctor. “Well, that is something hard upon me,” said Miss Dunstable, as she sat down to table. “And you really think that no good of any sort can come from my giving such a party as this?” “Oh, yes; some people, no doubt, have been amused.” “It is all vanity in your estimation,” said Miss Dunstable; “vanity and vexation of spirit. Well; there is a good deal of the latter, certainly. Sherry, if you please. I would give anything for a glass of beer, but that is out of the question. Vanity and vexation of spirit! And yet I meant to do good.”