“Wh-a-y? did you w-a-ant him?” “Of course I did, or else I should not have asked for him,” returned Frere sharply; then handing his own card and Bracy’s note of introduction across the counter, he continued, “Take those to your _master_, and tell him that a lady and gentleman are waiting to see him.” At the word “master” Hyperion coloured and appeared about to become impertinent, but something in Frere’s look induced him to alter his intention, and turning on his heel, he strode into the back shop with an _air martyre_, which was deeply affecting to the risible muscles of the pair he left behind him. “There’s an animal!” exclaimed Frere, as the subject of his remark disappeared behind a tall column of account books. “Now that ape looks upon himself as a sort of Admirable Crichton, and I’ll be bound has a higher opinion of his own mental endowments than ever Shakespeare or Milton had of theirs. I dare say the creature has his admirers, too: some subordinate shop boy, or the urchin who runs of errands, takes him at his own price and believes in him implicitly. Ye gods, what a ‘ship of fools’ is this goodly vessel of society!” “I hope he does not rest his claims on the ground of his personal attractions,” returned Rose with a quiet smile. “His strength must lie in his hair, if he does,” replied Frere, “like that of his Israelitish Hercules of old. But see, here he comes, shaking his ambrosial locks; and behold, he smiles graciously upon us. Bracy’s note has worked miracles.”