That which most puzzled Vance was that which had most puzzled the Cobbler,--What could the man once have been? how fallen so low?--for fall it was, that was clear. The painter, though not himself of patrician extraction, had been much in the best society. He had been a petted favourite in great houses. He had travelled. He had seen the world. He had the habits and instincts of good society. Now, in what the French term the _beau monde_, there are little traits that reveal those who have entered it,--certain tricks of phrase, certain modes of expression,--even the pronunciation of familiar words, even the modulation of an accent. A man of the most refined bearing may not have these peculiarities; a man, otherwise coarse and brusque in his manner, may. The slang of the _beau monde_ is quite apart from the code of high breeding. Now and then, something in Waife’s talk seemed to show that he had lighted on that beau-world; now and then, that something wholly vanished. So that Vance might have said, “He has been admitted there, not inhabited it.” Yet Vance could not feel sure, after all; comedians are such takes in. But was the man, by the profession of his earlier life, a comedian? Vance asked the question adroitly. “You must have taken to the stage young?” said he. “The stage!” said Waife; “if you mean the public stage, no. I have acted pretty often in youth, even in childhood, to amuse others, never professionally to support myself, till Mr. Rugge civilly engaged me four years ago.” “Is it possible,--with your excellent education! But pardon me; I have hinted my surprise at your late vocation before, and it displeased you.” “Displeased me!” said Waife, with an abject, depressed manner; “I hope I said nothing that would have misbecome a poor broken vagabond like me. I am no prince in disguise,--a good-for-nothing varlet who should be too grateful to have something to keep himself from a dunghill.” LIONEL.--“Don’t talk so. And but for your accident you might now be the great attraction on the metropolitan stage. Who does not respect a really fine actor?” WAIFE (gloomily).--“The metropolitan stage! I was talked into it: I am glad even of the accident that saved me; say no more of that, no more of that. But I have spoiled your sitting. Sophy, you see, has left her chair.” “I have done for to-day,” said Vance; “to-morrow, and my task is ended.” Lionel came up to Vance and whispered him; the painter, after a pause, nodded silently, and then said to Waife, “We are going to enjoy the fine weather on the Thames (after I have put away these things), and shall return to our inn--not far hence--to sup, at eight o’clock. Supper is our principal meal; we rarely spoil our days by the ceremonial of a formal dinner. Will you do us the favour to sup with us? Our host has a wonderful whiskey, which when raw is Glenlivat, but refined into toddy is nectar. Bring your pipe, and let us hear John Kemble again.”