"Oh, papa!" cried Claire, with the tears in her eyes. "Silence! Morton, my son, I have hopes that by means of my interest a certain person will give you a commission in the Light Dragoons, and-- For what we have received may the Lord make us truly thankful." "Amen," said Morton. "Claire, I want some more bread and butter." "Claire," said the Master of the Ceremonies, rising from the table as a faint tinkle was heard, "there is the Countess's bell." He drew the girl aside and laid a thin white finger upon her shoulder. "You must give her a broader hint this morning, Claire. Six months, and she has paid nothing whatever. I cannot, I really cannot go on finding her ladyship in apartments and board like this. It is so unreasonable. A woman, too, with her wealth. Pray, speak to her again, but don't offend her. You must be careful. Delicately, my child--delicately. A leader of fashion even now. A woman of exquisite refinement. Of the highest aristocracy. Speak delicately. It would never do to cause her annoyance about such a sordid thing as money--a few unsettled debts of honour. Ah, her bell again. Don't keep her waiting." "If you please, ma'am, her ladyship has rung twice," said Isaac, entering the room; "and Eliza says shall she go?" "No, Isaac, your mistress will visit her ladyship," said the MC with dignity. "You can clear away, Isaac--you can clear away." Stuart Denville, Esquire, walked to the window and took a pinch of snuff. As soon as his back was turned Isaac grinned and winked at Morton, making believe to capture and carry off the bread and butter; while the lad hastily wrote on a piece of paper: "Pour me out a cup of tea in the pantry, Ike, and I'll come down." Five minutes later the room was cleared, and the MC turned from the window to catch angrily from the table some half-dozen letters which the footman had placed ready for him to see. "Bills, bills, bills," he said, in a low, angry voice, thrusting them unread into the drawer of a cabinet; "what am I to do? How am I to pay?" He sat down gracefully, as if it were part of his daily life, and his brow wrinkled, and an old look came into his face as he thought of the six months' arrears of the lady who occupied his first floor, and his hands began to tremble strangely as he seemed to see open before him an old-fashioned casket, in which lay, glittering upon faded velvet, necklet, tiara, brooch, earrings and bracelets--large diamonds of price; a few of which, if sold, would be sufficient to pay his debts, and enable him to keep up appearances, and struggle on, till Claire was well married, and his son well placed. Money--money--always struggling on for money in this life of beggarly gentility; while only on the next floor that old woman on the very brink of the grave had trinkets, any one of which--