“You don't say so? Is Queen Anne dead? and has she left you a fortune? or what's the luck in the wind now?” “It's better than Queen Anne, or anybody dying. What should you say to seeing in that very place where Mossrose now sits (hang him!)--seeing the FINEST HEAD OF 'AIR NOW IN EUROPE? A woman, I tell you--a slap-up lovely woman, who, I'm proud to say, will soon be called Mrs. Heglantine, and will bring me five thousand pounds to her fortune.” “Well, Tiny, this IS good luck indeed. I say, you'll be able to do a bill or two for ME then, hay? You won't forget an old friend?” “That I won't. I shall have a place at my board for you, Capting; and many's the time I shall 'ope to see you under that ma'ogany.” “What will the French milliner say? She'll hang herself for despair, Eglantine.” “Hush! not a word about 'ER. I've sown all my wild oats, I tell you. Eglantine is no longer the gay young bachelor, but the sober married man. I want a heart to share the feelings of mine. I want repose. I'm not so young as I was: I feel it.” “Pooh! pooh! you are--you are--” “Well, but I sigh for an 'appy fireside; and I'll have it.” “And give up that club which you belong to, hay?” “'The Kidneys?' Oh! of course, no married man should belong to such places: at least, I'LL not; and I'll have my kidneys broiled at home. But be quiet, Captain, if you please; the ladies appointed to--” “And is it THE lady you expect? eh, you rogue!” “Well, get along. It's her and her Ma.” But Mr. Walker determined he wouldn't get along, and would see these lovely ladies before he stirred. The operation on Mr. Walker's whiskers being concluded, he was arranging his toilet before the glass in an agreeable attitude: his neck out, his enormous pin settled in his stock to his satisfaction, his eyes complacently directed towards the reflection of his left and favourite whisker. Eglantine was laid on a settee, in an easy, though melancholy posture; he was twiddling the tongs with which he had just operated on Walker with one hand, and his right-hand ringlet with the other, and he was thinking--thinking of Morgiana; and then of the bill which was to become due on the 16th; and then of a light-blue velvet waistcoat with gold sprigs, in which he looked very killing, and so was trudging round in his little circle of loves, fears, and vanities. “Hang it!” Mr. Walker was thinking, “I AM a handsome man. A pair of whiskers like mine are not met with every day. If anybody can see that my tuft is dyed, may I be--” When the door was flung open, and a large lady with a curl on her forehead, yellow shawl, a green-velvet bonnet with feathers, half-boots, and a drab gown with tulips and other large exotics painted on it--when, in a word, Mrs. Crump and her daughter bounced into the room. “Here we are, Mr. E,” cries Mrs. Crump, in a gay folatre confidential air. “But law! there's a gent in the room!”