There was in the room a dipper, as they call the women who hand the water to those who go to drink it. We were told that it was customary to pay our footing with half-a-crown; but we drank none of the water, which is not, like that of Tunbridge Wells, sweet and pleasant to the taste. Then Cicely led us to another building hard by, a handsome place, having a broad porch with columns, very elegant. This, it appeared, was the Assembly Room, where were held the public balls, concerts, and breakfasts. We entered and looked about us. Mrs. Esther recalled her triumphs in this very room, and shed a tear over the past. Then a girl accosted us, and begged permission to enter our names in a great book. This (with five shillings each by way of fees) made us free of all the entertainments of the season. Near the Assembly Rooms was the coffee-house, used only by the gentlemen. "They pretend," said Cicely, "to come here for letter-writing and to read the news. I do not know how many letters they write, but I do know what they talk about, because I had it of the girl who pours out their coffee, and it is not about religion, nor politics, but all about the toast of the day." "What is the toast of the day?" I asked. Cicely smiled, like a saucy baggage as she was, and said that no doubt Miss Kitty would soon find out. "Already," she said, "Mr. Walsingham is looking at you." I saw an old gentleman already dressed for the morning, with lace ruffles and a handkerchief for the neck of rich crimson silk, who sat on one of the benches beneath the trees, his hand upon a stick, looking at me with a sort of earnestness. "Hush!" cried Cicely, whispering; "he is more than eighty years of age: he goes every year to Epsom, Bath, and Tunbridge--all three--and he can tell you the name of the toast in every place for fifty years, and describe her face." A "toast," then, was another word for a young lady. As we passed his bench, the old gentleman rose and bowed with great ceremony to madam. "Your most obedient servant, madam," he said, still looking at me. "I trust that the Wells will be honoured by your ladyship with a long stay. My name is Walsingham, madam, and I am not unknown here. Permit me to offer my services to you and to your lovely daughter." "My niece, sir." Madam returned the bow with a curtsey as deep. "My niece, Miss Kitty Pleydell. We arrived last night, and we expect to find our stay so agreeable as to prolong it."