All the family chorused ‘Yes,’ and Mr Wopples admitted, with a modest smile, that it was wonderful. ‘Practise,’ said Mr Wopples, waving a fork with a piece of cold beef at the end of it, ‘makes perfect. My dear Vandeloup, if you will permit me to call you so, my son Buckstone is truly a wonderful critic.’ Vandeloup smiled at this, and came to the conclusion that the Wopples family was a mutual admiration society. However, as it was now nearly twelve o’clock, he rose to take his leave. ‘Oh, you’re not going yet,’ said Mr Wopples, upon which all the family echoed, ‘Surely, not yet,’ in a most hospitable manner. ‘I must,’ said Vandeloup, with a smile. ‘I know Madame will excuse me,’ with a bow to Mrs Wopples, who thereupon fluttered nervously; ‘but I have to be up very early in the morning.’ ‘In that case,’ said Mr Wopples, rising, ‘I will not detain you; early to bed and early to rise, you know; not that I believe in it much myself, but I understand it is practised with good results by some people.’ Vandeloup shook hands with Mr and Mrs Wopples, but feeling unequal to taking leave of the ten star artistes in the same way, he bowed in a comprehensive manner, whereupon the whole ten arose from their chairs and bowed unanimously in return. ‘Good night, Messrs Villiers and Jarper,’ said Vandeloup, going out of the door, ‘I will see you to-morrow.’ ‘And we also, I hope,’ said Mr Wopples, ungrammatically. ‘Come and see “The Cruet Stand” again. I’ll put your name on the free list.’ M. Vandeloup thanked the actor warmly for this kind offer, and took himself off; as he passed along the street he heard a burst of laughter from the Wopples family, no doubt caused by some witticism of the head of the clan. He walked slowly home to the hotel, smoking a cigarette, and thinking deeply. When he arrived at the ‘Wattle Tree’ he saw a light still burning in the bar, and, on knocking at the door, was admitted by Miss Twexby, who had been making up accounts, and whose virgin head was adorned with curl-papers. ‘My!’ said this damsel, when she saw him, ‘you are a nice young man coming home at this hour--twelve o’clock. See?’ and, as a proof of her assertion, she pointed to the clock. ‘Were you waiting up for me, dear?’ asked Vandeloup, audaciously. ‘Not I,’ retorted Miss Twexby, tossing her curl-papers; ‘I’ve been attending to par’s business; but, oh, gracious!’ with a sudden recollection of her head-gear, ‘you’ve seen me in undress.’ ‘And you look more charming than ever,’ finished Vandeloup, as he took his bedroom candle from her. ‘I will see you in the morning. My friend still asleep, I suppose?’ ‘I’m sure I don’t know. I haven’t seen him all the evening,’ replied Miss Twexby, tossing her head, ‘now, go away. You’re a naughty, wicked, deceitful thing. I declare I’m quite afraid of you.’ ‘There’s no need, I assure you,’ replied Vandeloup, in a slightly sarcastic voice, as he surveyed the plain-looking woman before him; ‘you are quite safe from me.’