“Civil, certainly,” said Stocmar, “but as little flattering to his own perspicuity as to myself. But I'll never forget the paternal tone in which he whispered me afterwards, 'Whenever you want a discount, Mr. Stocmar, from a stranger,--an utter stranger,--don't wear an opal pin set in brilliants; it don't do, I assure you it don't'.” Stocmar gave such a close imitation of the worthy banker's voice and utterance, that his partner laughed heartily. “Does he ever give a dinner, Trover?” asked Stocmar. “Oh yes, he gives one every quarter. Our graver clients, who would not venture to come up here, dine with him, and he treats them to sirloins and saddles, with Gordon's sherry and a very fruity port, made especially, I believe, for men with good balances to their names.” “I should like to be present at one of these festivals.” “You have no chance, Stocmar; he'd as soon think of inviting the _corps de ballet_ to tea. I myself am never admitted to such celebrations.” “What rogues these fellows are, Ludlow!” said Stocmar. “If you and I were to treat the world in this fashion, what would be said of us! The real humbugs of this life are the fellows that play the heavy parts.” And with this reflection, whose image was derived from his theatrical experiences, he arose, to take his coffee on the terrace. CHAPTER XXXI. IN THE TOILS Mrs. Morris gave directions that when a gentleman should call to inquire for her he should be at once introduced, a brief note from Mr. Trover having apprised her that Mr. Stocmar had just arrived, and would wait upon her without further delay. There was not in her air or manner the slightest trait of inquietude or even impatience; as she sat there, still stitching away at her Berlin elephant, she seemed an emblem of calm, peaceful contentedness. Her half-mourning, perhaps, sobered down somewhat the character of her appearance; but these lilac-colored ribbons harmonized well with her fair skin, and became her much. With a tact all her own, she had carefully avoided in the arrangement of her room any of those little artistic effects which, however successful with the uninitiated, would be certain of a significant appreciation from one familiar with stage “get up” and all the suggestive accessories of the playhouse. “No,” thought she,--“no half-open miniatures, no moss- roses in Bohemian glass--not even a camellia--on my work-table for Mr. Stocmar.” Even Lila, her Italian greyhound, was dismissed from her accustomed cushion on that morning, lest her presence might argue effect.