‘Well, really!’ returned the lady reproachfully. ‘At all events, _we_ are not sorry,’ said Mrs. Jordan slily. ‘I did not mean—you know what I mean,’ pleaded William Henry with a blush that they probably envied. ‘I am so sorry to be so awkward, but I am very young.’ ‘Does he mean to say that we are _not_?’ ejaculated Mrs. Powell with a majestic air. ‘Great heavens!’ ‘I think, sister, since he has thrown himself upon the mercy of the court,’ interposed Mrs. Jordan good-naturedly, ‘that we should not be hard upon him.’ ‘Youth and inexperience,’ exclaimed Mrs. Powell judicially, ‘are no excuses for crime; but since my learned sister—— You have seen her as Portia, no doubt, young man, and a very pretty lawyer she makes—don’t you think so? It was like two people speaking from the same mouth—the one all gaiety, the other all merriment. ‘Of course I have seen her, who has not?’ said William Henry, plucking up his courage, though with such desperation that it almost came away by the roots. ‘That’s much better,’ smiled Mrs. Jordan approvingly. ‘I am not sure,’ returned her companion. ‘Do you not also remember _me_, sir?’ ‘Who could forget you who remembers “Juliet,“ madam?’ returned the young gentleman, with his hand (as he thought) upon his heart. ‘Left side, sir, the next time,’ observed his tormentor encouragingly; ‘anatomy has not been a special study with you, but you improve in manners. We are here to test your gallantry, to sue for favours.’ ‘Whatever lies within my humble power to do for you, madam, may be considered as done.’ ‘Did I say “improves”? Why, he’s perfect,’ said Mrs. Powell, with a laughing glance at her companion. ‘But it’s all for love of Portia,’ she added with a sigh. [Illustration: ’THAT’S MUCH BETTER,’ SMILED MRS. JORDAN, APPROVINGLY.] ‘No, of Juliet,’ returned Mrs. Jordan, with another shake of her pretty head. There was a gentle tap at the door; a face, a very charming one, looked in, and with a murmured apology withdrew as suddenly as it had come. ‘Curiosity,’ said Mrs. Jordan softly, her eyes twinkling like two stars. ‘Jealousy,’ answered Mrs. Powell derisively. ‘I do not ask _which_ was it, but _who_ was it, sir?’ ‘I don’t know,’ said William Henry boldly; ‘I had my back to the door.’ At this both ladies burst out laughing, if an expression so coarse can be applied to as musical mirth as ever rippled from the lips of woman. ‘He _doesn’t know_,’ cried Mrs. Powell; ‘and this is the young gentleman we took for all simplicity. How dare you, sir? As if her fairy footfall was not evidence enough to your throbbing ears, as if her coming here at all to see how you were getting on with two wicked young women from Drury Lane, was not sufficient proof of her identity?’ Then turning to her companion, ‘How dreadful to contemplate is his depravity! So young in years, and yet so versed in duplicity.’ ‘You are engaged to be married to her, of course,’ said Mrs. Jordan softly.