"Rest yourself, my dear," said the Actor, placing Sophy on a couch with that tender respect for sex and childhood which so specially belongs to the high-bred. "The room will do, ma'am. I will let you know later whether we shall require beds. As to dinner, I am not particular,-- a cutlet, a chicken, what you please, at seven o'clock. Stay, I beg your pardon for detaining you, but where does the Mayor live?" "His private residence is a mile out of the town, but his counting-house is just above the Town Hall,--to the right, sir." "Name?" "Mr. Hartopp!" "Hartopp! Ah! to be sure! Hartopp. His political opinions, I think, are" (ventures at a guess) "enlightened?" LANDLADY.--"Very much so, sir. Mr. Hartopp is highly respected." WAIFE.--"The chief municipal officer of a town so thriving--fine shops and much plate glass--must march with the times. I think I have heard that Mr. Hartopp promotes the spread of intelligence and the propagation of knowledge." LANDLADY (rather puzzled).--"I dare say, sir. The Mayor takes great interest in the Gatesboro' Athemeum and Literary Institute." WAIFE.--"Exactly what I should have presumed from his character and station. I will detain you no longer, ma'am" (ducal bow). The landlady descended the stairs. Was her guest a candidate for the representation of the town at the next election? March with the times!--spread of intelligence! All candidates she ever knew had that way of expressing themselves,--"March" and "Spread." Not an address had parliamentary aspirant put forth to the freemen and electors of Gatesboro' but what "March" had been introduced by the candidate, and "Spread" been suggested by the committee. Still she thought that her guest, upon the whole, looked and bowed more like a member of the Upper House,--perhaps one of the amiable though occasionally prosy peers who devote the teeth of wisdom to the cracking of those very hard nuts, "How to educate the masses," "What to do with our criminals," and such like problems, upon which already have been broken so many jawbones tough as that with which Samson slew the Philistines. "Oh, Grandfather!" sighed Sophy, "what are you about? We shall be ruined, you, too, who are so careful not to get into debt. And what have we left to pay the people here?" "Sir Isaac! and THIS!" returned the Comedian, touching his forehead. "Do not alarm yourself: stay here and repose; and don't let Sir Isaac out of the room on any account!" He took off his hat, brushed the nap carefully with his sleeve, replaced it on his head,--not jauntily aside, not like a jeune premier, but with equilateral brims, and in composed fashion, like a /pere noble/; then, making a sign to Sir Isaac to rest quiet, be passed to the door; there he halted, and turning towards Sophy, and, meeting her wistful eyes, his own eye moistened. "Ah!" he murmured, "Heaven grant I may succeed now, for if I do, then you shall indeed be a little lady!" He was gone. CHAPTER X.