“Yes, faith, many's the palace I've lived in--for the space of half an hour at a time--but I make no objections to the room I 'm in just now. See the pictures!” She raised her hands in an attitude of surprise and admiration, so well simulated as to deceive the landlord, though he had lived in London. “Pictures! Oh, the grandeur of it all! And what about breakfast? Give us your notions of the proper decorations of a breakfast-table, good sir. It's a picture of rashers that I've got my heart set on.” “The best breakfast that my poor house can afford your ladyship shall be prepared.” “And soon, good Mr. Landlord, I implore of you, sir. Breakfast for two.” “For two, madam!” The landlord began to feel that his experience of assignations was about to be augmented. “For two, sir--I look for my brother to arrive by the coach from Levizes. If he should enquire for me at the bar, just show him in here.” “Your commands shall be obeyed, madam. Will he enquire for your ladyship by name?” “By name? Why, how else would you have him enquire, my good man? Do you fancy that he carries a Bow Street runner's description of so humble a person as myself?” “Nay, madam; but you see your name is just what I have n't yet had the honour of learning.” The lady burst out laughing. “Faith, good sir, my name is a somewhat important detail in the transaction I speak of. The gentleman will ask for Mistress Clive.” “Ah,” cried the landlord, “I could have sworn that I knew the face and the voice, but I failed to think of them in connection with our Kitty.” He checked himself in his cackle of laughter, and bowed in his best style. “Madam, I implore your pardon, but--oh lord! how I've laughed in the old days at Kitty's pranks!--nay, madam, forgive my familiarity. I am your servant. Oh, lord! to think that it's Kitty Clive herself--our Kitty--madam--” Only when he had fled to the door and had opened it did the man recover himself sufficiently to be able to repeat his bow. After he had disappeared at the other side of the door, the lady heard his outburst of laughter once again. It grew fainter as he hurried off to (she hoped) the kitchen. Kitty Clive laughed, also, as she seated herself carefully on the settle, for it was a piece of furniture whose cushions required to be tenderly treated. “And this is real fame,” she murmured. “To be 'our Kitty' to a hundred thousand men and women is my ambition--a laudable one, too, I swear--one worth struggling for--worth fighting Davy for, and Davy Garrick takes a deal of fighting. He has got more of it from Kitty Clive than he bargained for.”