“Perfumery supplied for five years; that man used more 'air-brushes than any duke in the land, and as for eau-de-Cologne, he must have bathed himself in it. He hordered me about like a lord. He never paid me one shilling--he stabbed me in my most vital part--but ah! ah! never mind THAT: and I said I would be revenged, and I AM.” The perfumer was quite in a rage again by this time, and wiped his fat face with his pocket-handkerchief, and glared upon Mrs. Walker with a most determined air. “Revenged on whom? Archibald--Mr. Eglantine, revenged on me--on a poor woman whom you made miserable! You would not have done so once.” “Ha! and a precious way you treated me ONCE,” said Eglantine: “don't talk to me, mem, of ONCE. Bury the recollection of once for hever! I thought my 'eart would have broke once, but no: 'earts are made of sterner stuff. I didn't die, as I thought I should; I stood it--and I live to see the woman who despised me at my feet.” “Oh, Archibald!” was all the lady could say, and she fell to sobbing again: it was perhaps her best argument with the perfumer. “Oh, Harchibald, indeed!” continued he, beginning to swell; “don't call me Harchibald, Morgiana. Think what a position you might have held if you'd chose: when, when--you MIGHT have called me Harchibald. Now it's no use,” added he, with harrowing pathos; “but, though I've been wronged, I can't bear to see women in tears--tell me what I can do.” “Dear good Mr. Eglantine, send to your lawyers and stop this horrid prosecution--take Mr. Walker's acknowledgment for the debt. If he is free, he is sure to have a very large sum of money in a few days, and will pay you all. Do not ruin him--do not ruin me by persisting now. Be the old kind Eglantine you were.” Eglantine took a hand, which Morgiana did not refuse; he thought about old times. He had known her since childhood almost; as a girl he dandled her on his knee at the “Kidneys;” as a woman he had adored her--his heart was melted. “He did pay me in a sort of way,” reasoned the perfumer with himself--“these bonds, though they are not worth much, I took 'em for better or for worse, and I can't bear to see her crying, and to trample on a woman in distress. Morgiana,” he added, in a loud cheerful voice, “cheer up; I'll give you a release for your husband: I WILL be the old kind Eglantine I was.” “Be the old kind jackass you vash!” here roared a voice that made Mr. Eglantine start. “Vy, vat an old fat fool you are, Eglantine, to give up our just debts because a voman comes snivelling and crying to you--and such a voman, too!” exclaimed Mr. Mossrose, for his was the voice. “Such a woman, sir?” cried the senior partner.