The Major reflected. Benjamin, in the capacity of protector, did not appear to inspire our military friend with confidence. After a moment’s consideration a new idea seemed to strike him. He turned to me. “My charming friend,” he said, “be more charming than ever--consent to a compromise. Let us treat this difficulty about Dexter from a social point of view. What do you say to a little dinner?” “A little dinner?” I repeated, not in the least understanding him. “A little dinner,” the Major reiterated, “at my house. You insist on my introducing you to Dexter, and I refuse to trust you alone with that crack-brained personage. The only alternative under the circumstances is to invite him to meet you, and to let you form your own opinion of him--under the protection of my roof. Who shall we have to meet you besides?” pursued the Major, brightening with hospitable intentions. “We want a perfect galaxy of beauty around the table, as a species of compensation when we have got Miserrimus Dexter as one the guests. Madame Mirliflore is still in London. You would be sure to like her--she is charming; she possesses your firmness, your extraordinary tenacity of purpose. Yes, we will have Madame Mirliflore. Who else? Shall we say Lady Clarinda? Another charming person, Mr. Benjamin! You would be sure to admire her--she is so sympathetic, she resembles in so many respects our fair friend here. Yes, Lady Clarinda shall be one of us; and you shall sit next to her, Mr. Benjamin, as a proof of my sincere regard for you. Shall we have my young prima donna to sing to us in the evening? think so. She is pretty; she will assist in obscuring the deformity of Dexter. Very well; there is our party complete! I will shut myself up this evening and approach the question of dinner with my cook. Shall we say this day week,” asked the Major, taking out his pocketbook, “at eight o’clock?” I consented to the proposed compromise--but not very willingly. With a letter of introduction, I might have seen Miserrimus Dexter that afternoon. As it was, the “little dinner” compelled me to wait in absolute inaction through a whole week. However, there was no help for it but to submit. Major Fitz-David, in his polite way, could be as obstinate as I was. He had evidently made up his mind; and further opposition on my part would be of no service to me. “Punctually at eight, Mr. Benjamin,” reiterated the Major. “Put it down in your book.” Benjamin obeyed--with a side look at me, which I was at no loss to interpret. My good old friend did not relish meeting a man at dinner who was described as “half tiger, half monkey;” and the privilege of sitting next to Lady Clarinda rather daunted than delighted him. It was all my doing, and he too had no choice but to submit. “Punctually at eight, sir,” said poor old Benjamin, obediently recording his formidable engagement. “Please to take another glass of wine.”