The gaunt woman served it, gliding in and out of the room with a quiet assurance. It was no lodging-house dinner, but the artful succession of little dishes which symbolizes the established creed of superior-living creatures. Wine, too, flowed from long-necked bottles, and coffee was served in diminutive cups. At length, Mrs. Windsor collected the last vestiges of this remarkable feast, but left on the table a silver tray on which were set four liqueur glasses and a decanter of green Chartreuse. “Let us all sit round the fire,” said our host. “But, first, let me press you to have a little of this excellent beverage. It was given me by a holy brother, a man who led a varied life, but who, alas! died in disgrace.” He passed his hand across his brow as though the memory were too sacred to be discussed. I sighed involuntarily, and my wife said brightly: “Not for me, Mr. Brancker; but you help yourself. And now you’re going to tell us the story of the white frock.” He raised his fine head and looked at her. Then he stretched out his long arm across the table and gently pressed her hand. “I beg of you, dear lady,” he said gently, “just one drop in memory of my friend.” The implied sanctity of the appeal could not be denied. Both my wife and I partook of half a glass, and though I am by nature an abstainer, I must acknowledge that it tasted very good. Old Brancker’s hand trembled as he poured out the Chartreuse. He drank his at a gulp, and as though the emotion were not yet stilled, he had another one. Then he rose, and, taking my wife’s arm, he led her to the easy chair by the fire. I was rather proud of my intimate knowledge of the old actor’s possessions, and I pointed out the snuff-box which Nellie Farren had given him, and the photograph of Irving, with its inscription “To my dear old friend.” Brancker sighed and shrugged his shoulders. Perhaps one does not boast of these associations. Perhaps it is vulgar, but I knew how interested Alice would be. When we had done a round of the rooms, whither in his fatherly way he had conducted my wife by the arm, and occasionally rested his hand ever so lightly on her shoulder, we returned to the dining-room, and Alice said: “Now show me this little white frock!” He bowed, and without a word went out into the hall, and returned with the frock, which he spread reverently over the back of a chair. “How perfectly sweet!” said my wife.