The young woman had her hand on Mr. Wynne’s arm when she went in, and was saying, “you know you cannot say ‘no’ to _me_, and are going to take me to the theatre.” Was ever such a brazen piece! He had his head turned away, and looked as if he’d rather have her room than her company. The girls run after the men now, and no mistake! It was scandalous! The haystack after the cow! Supposing this young person’s folk were to know of her carryings on--and with Mr. Wynne, of all men! It beat everything that Mrs. Potts had come across right away into a cocked hat! A few minutes later they were coming down the stairs, miss all wrapped up in a long velvet cloak, which velvet cloak Mrs. Potts having found in the outer office, had done herself the pleasure of examining, and--low be it spoken--trying on. None of your “paletot things,” as she expressed it, but a long mantle of crimson velvet, reaching down to the floor, trimmed with thick, soft fur, and lined with satin, smelling powerfully of some sweet perfume--violets. Mrs. Potts, being squat and of short stature, was lost in it. But the time when she was enveloped in a six-hundred-pound wrap was indisputably one of her happiest moments. There was a pocket inside, and in that pocket a dainty lace-edged handkerchief, which, I am sorry to say, Mrs. Potts felt called upon to confiscate as a souvenir. It did not appear to be one of Mr. Wynne’s happiest moments, as he pulled on his great coat, and followed the daintily tripping, high-heeled steps of his visitor downstairs. Mrs. Potts, who had naturally hung about the door below, did herself the honour of seeing the couple into the hansom, and heard the order--“Haymarket theatre.” “So she had got her way,” said the charwoman, as she stood boldly in the doorway and looked after them. Then she went upstairs to Mr. Wynne’s room and finished the sherry, poured herself out a cup of coffee, which she sipped at her leisure, as she sat comfortably over the fire in Mr. Wynne’s own chair. One half of the world certainly does not know how the other half lives! “Really, it is very ridiculous of you to be so strait-laced and grumpy, Laurence!” said his wife. “Think of all I am going to relinquish for your sake!”--touching her furs. “This mantle, which makes other women green with envy, cost nearly six hundred pounds!” “Six hundred fiddlesticks!” he echoed incredulously. “You can see the bill, if you like.” “You ought to be ashamed to wear it, Maddie!” “Not at all, my dear. It is for the good of trade. If some people did not buy and wear fine feathers, what would become of trade?” “Six hundred pounds! More than he could earn in twelve months! And she paid that for an opera-cloak!” “You really must make yourself agreeable, Laurence. This may be the last time I shall play the fairy princess, before I go back to my rags. No, no, I don’t mean that.”