“Shmoking—haven’t I?” says Clarence with a laugh; “and I’ve been at the Five Bells, and I’ve been having a game of billiards with an old friend of mine,” and he lurches towards a decanter. “Ah! don’t drink any more, my child!” cries the mother. “I’m as sober as a judge, I tell you. You leave so precious little in the bottle at dinner, that I must get it when I can, mustn’t I, Batchelor, old boy? We had a row yesterday, hadn’t we? No, it was sugar-baker. I’m not angry—you’re not angry. Bear no malish. Here’s your health, old boy!” The unhappy gentleman drank his bumper of sherry, and, tossing his hair off his head, said—“Where’s the governess—where’s Bessy Bellenden? Who’s that kickin’ me under the table, I say?” “Where is who?” asks his mother. “Bessy Bellenden—the governess—that’s her real name. Known her these ten years. Used to dansh at Prinsh’s Theatre. Remember her in the corps de ballet. Ushed to go behind the shenes. Dooshid pretty girl!” maunders out the tipsy youth; and as the unconscious subject of his mischievous talk enters the room, again he cries out, “Come and sit by me, Bessy Bellenden, I say!” The matrons rose with looks of horror in their faces. “A ballet dancer!” cries Mrs. Bonnington. “A ballet dancer!” echoes Lady Baker. “Young woman, is this true?” “The Bulbul and the Roshe—hay?” laughs the captain. “Don’t you remember you and Fosbery in blue and shpangles? Always all right, though, Bellenden was. Fosbery washn’t: but Bellenden was. Give you every credit for that, Bellenden. Boxsh my earsh. Bear no malish—no—no—malish! Get some more sherry, you—whatsh your name—Bedford, butler—and I’ll pay you the money I owe you;” and he laughs his wild laugh, utterly unconscious of the effect he is producing. Bedford stands staring at him as pale as death. Poor Miss Prior is as white as marble. Wrath, terror, and wonder are in the countenances of the dowagers. It is an awful scene! “Mr. Batchelor knows that it was to help my family I did it,” says the poor governess. “Yes, by George! and nobody can say a word against her,” bursts in Dick Bedford, with a sob; “and she is as honest as any woman here!” “Pray, who told you to put your oar in?” cries the tipsy captain. “And you knew that this person was on the stage, and you introduced her into my son’s family? Oh, Mr. Batchelor, Mr. Batchelor, I didn’t think it of you! Don’t speak to me, Miss!” cries the flurried Bonnington. “You brought this woman to the children of my adored Cecilia?” calls out the other dowager. “Serpent, leave the room! Pack your trunks, viper! and quit the house this instant. Don’t touch her, Cissy. Come to me, my blessing. Go away, you horrid wretch!” “She ain’t a horrid wretch; and when I was ill she was very good to us,” breaks in Pop, with a roar of tears: “and you shan’t go, Miss Prior—my dear, pretty Miss Prior. You shan’t go!” and the child rushes up to the governess, and covers her neck with tears and kisses.