"Oh, you too-punctual people!" exclaimed the lively Mrs. MacClaverhouse. "You come to see an old woman who lives in lodgings, and I dare say you expect every thing as well _réglé_ as if you were going to dine at Mr. Horborough's palace in Park Lane. How do you do, Florence my dear?--How d'ye do, Crawford? So you and Mr. O'Boyneville are old friends? That's very nice; but I hope you're not going to talk about texture and modelling _all_ the evening. Do you know we had a couple of musical celebrities once at one of the General's dinners in Portland Place, and they talked about harmony and composition all dinner-time; and as they sat on opposite sides of the table, it was _so_ agreeable for the rest of the company. 'Do you know what that fellow Simpkins will do?' says Brown. 'Why, he'll use consecutive fifths,--he's got them more than once in that last sonata of his.' 'God bless my soul!' cried Smith, 'I never thought much of him, but I did not suppose he was capable of _that_.' And that's the way they went on the whole evening. So, you dear Crawford, tell us as many nice stories about your artist friends as you can--about their having their furniture seized by sheriffs' officers, and taking their pig pictures wet to that stupid pawnbroker, who rubs out a pig with his thumb; and dying in sponging-houses; and stabbing their models in order to get the proper contraction of the muscles; but please _don't_ be technical." The Indian notability made his appearance presently, with a very stately wife in brown velvet and carbuncles; a costume which Flo declared reminded her of haunch-of-mutton and currant-jelly. To Mr. O'Boyneville's escort this stately matron was intrusted; an elegant young Belgian diplomatist, who spoke very little English, took charge of Florence, while Mr. Crawford devoted himself to Cecil, and the Judge of the Sudder Dewanee offered his arm to Mrs. MacClaverhouse, whose brain was racked by doubts as to whether the salmon would go comfortably round, or whether those two ninepenny lobsters ordered for the sauce were equal to the eighteenpenny one which she had rejected, suspecting sinister motives lurking in the mind of the fishmonger who had recommended it. The dinner _à la Russe_ is a splendid institution for the economical housekeeper, and might on some occasions be called a dinner _à la ruse_; so artful are the manœuvres by which half-a-dozen oyster-patties, or a few ounces of chicken and a handful of asparagus tops, can be made to do duty for a course; so inexpensive are the desserts, which consist chiefly of fossilised conserves and uneatable bonbons, and which are of so indestructible a nature that they will last a managing hostess as long as a chancery-suit. The dinner went off well. Mrs. MacClaverhouse's little dinners were almost always successful, in spite of those conflicting emotions which agitated the heart of the hostess.