"Nothing will ever keep him back when conviviality demands his presence." This came from his afflicted wife, who, in spite of all his misfortunes, would ever speak with some respect of her husband's employments. "He wasn't at all in a fit state to go to-night, but he had promised, and that was enough." When they had waited three-quarters of an hour Amelia began to complain,--certainly not without reason. "I wonder why Uncle John always keeps us waiting in this way?" "Papa has, unfortunately, something to do with his time, which is not altogether his own." There was not much in these words, but the tone in which they were uttered would have crushed any one more susceptible than Amelia Carroll. But at that moment the cab arrived, and Dolly went down to meet her father. "Have they come?" he asked. "Come," she answered, taking his gloves and comforter from him, and giving him a kiss as she did so. "That girl up-stairs is nearly famished." "I won't be half a moment," said the repentant father, hastening up-stairs to go through his ordinary dressing arrangement. "I wouldn't hurry for her," said Dolly; "but of course you'll hurry. You always do, don't you, papa?" Then they sat down to dinner. "Well, girls, what is your news?" "We were out to-day on the Brompton Road," said the eldest, "and there came up Prince Chitakov's drag with four roans." "Prince Chitakov! I didn't know there was such a prince." "Oh, dear, yes; with very stiff mustaches, turned up high at the corners, and pink cheeks, and a very sharp, nobby-looking hat, with a light-colored grey coat, and light gloves. You must know the prince." "Upon my word, I never heard of him, my dear. What did the prince do?" "He was tooling his own drag, and he had a lady with him on the box. I never saw anything more tasty than her dress,--dark red silk, with little fluffy fur ornaments all over it. I wonder who she was?" "Mrs. Chitakov, probably," said the attorney. "I don't think the prince is a married man," said Sophy. "They never are, for the most part," said Amelia; "and she wouldn't be Mrs. Chitakov, Uncle John." "Wouldn't she, now? What would she be? Can either of you tell me what the wife of a Prince of Chitakov would call herself?" "Princess of Chitakov, of course," said Sophy. "It's the Princess of Wales." "But it isn't the Princess of Christian, nor yet the Princess of Teck, nor the Princess of England. I don't see why the lady shouldn't be Mrs. Chitakov, if there is such a lady." "Papa, don't bamboozle her," said his daughter. "But," continued the attorney, "why shouldn't the lady have been his wife? Don't married ladies wear little fluffy fur ornaments?" "I wish, John, you wouldn't talk to the girls in that strain," said their mother. "It really isn't becoming." "To suggest that the lady was the gentleman's wife?"