Hansom cab and paid the driver by the mile, I doubt if the latter would have taken the shady side of South Audley-street as his shortest route from the house occupied by his fare to the door of White's club. Such, however, was the line my indolent friend chose to adopt, and it appeared simply from the force of habit that he turned up a street leading from that thoroughfare to the Park, to knock dreamily at the door of one of the prettiest houses in London, a house which always looked as if it had been fresh done up,' and the balconies of which bloomed with such geraniums as were not to be seen elsewhere.

'Is Mrs. Montpellier at home?" asked Gilbert, in a very matter-ofcourse voice; and the footman answered in corresponding tones, that Mrs. Montpellier was luncheon, and 'would Mr. Orme step this way?

at

Now Mrs. Montpellier was one of those ladies on whom their own sex choose to look somewhat askance without any defined cause. There were certain houses to which she was asked, certain people with whom she interchanged the cardleaving and other dreary courtesies of society; but those who repudiated her averred that the houses were what they called 'Omnium Gatherums, and the people 'secondrate.' The accusation was scarcely a fair one, but it swamped Mrs. Montpellier's bark, nevertheless. 'Who is she?' demanded Lady Visigoth, with annually-increasing virulence, spreading her long hands and tossing her head like one of her own carriage-horses; indeed, her face strongly resembled that of the Roman-nosed one that went on the near side. There are stories about her, I tell you. What are her antecedents? answer me that! There were no stories about Lady Visigoth, nor when you looked at her were you surprised at her immunity; but when she asked you about Mrs. Montpellier's 'antecedents,' in that voice of rigorous virtue, you could not but feel as if you yourself were doomed, however unjustly, to share the

burden of the fair backslider's possible sins.

Mrs. Montpellier's antecedents, however, albeit unknown to Lady Visigoth, were sufficiently romantic. She had made a run-away match with an Indian officer at nineteen, and had followed his fortunes through many a picturesque scene of danger and excitement. She had been under fire' too, real honest fighting fire, more than once; had seen a round shot go through her tent and smash her workbox; on another occasion, the camel she rode in a somewhat ill-organized retreat, had received a bullet-wound in its neck. She was rather proud of these adventures, and of the Rajahs whom she had visited, and the Begums in whose eastern boudoirs she had made herself at home; and sometimes (not often) she would chat pleasantly of those days with a dash of quiet sarcasm and a vein of womanly sentiment that were not unpleasing. The young husband soon died, from climate and 'brandy-pawnee' combined, and ere she could find her way home to her surviving relatives, via Calcutta, she was snapped up in that city of palaces and induced to change her name once more, by Montpellier, of the civil service, a tall, thin, yellow man, like a bamboo, old enough to be her father, and rich enough to have paved the street he lived in with gold. She never spoke of that time, and whereas there were miniatures, and photographs, and remembrances of her first husband scattered about her drawingroom in profusion, any souvenirs she had of old Montpellier were locked away carefully upstairs in her writing-desk. I believe she loved 'the bamboo' very dearly. Reserved as he was with others, he doted on his handsome wife, and she-old, withered, ugly as he was

why did she love him? I can give no better reason than a woman's answer-'Because she did!'

He left her, for the second time, a widow, in the prime of life-very rich, very good-looking, and, after a year or two, tolerably resigned to her fate. She wandered about the Continent for a time, and refused,

of course, many an offer of marriage. Indeed, Mrs. Montpellier was a lady who could take very good care of herself. Finally, notwithstanding her deficiency in antecedents,' she came and settled in London, three doors from Lady Visigoth. I should despair of explaining to male stupidity how it was possible that, after a career of adventure and travel, after the glowing Indian days, first of thrilling excitement, then of princely magnificence; after the gorgeous colouring and the dazzling climate, and the ease and freedom of Hindostan, Mrs. Montpellier could settle down to a quiet street in May-fair, and find absorbing interest in the narrow routine of London life. A lady will understand it in a minute. She puts herself at once in Mrs. Montpellier's place. Give her a household to order, a few shops to go to, a certain position to wrest or to retain, above all, a feud with Lady Visigoth, and she will have no difficulty in finding occupation for every hour in the twenty-four.

The widow (perhaps a twicebereaved one may fairly be called a widow indeed)-the widow had seen a good deal of life, and had not failed to profit by what she saw. Rather repudiating the idea of a third sacrifice, she had resolved to enjoy to the utmost the many pleasures and amusements which her situation permitted; and setting Lady V at defiance, she made her house the pleasantest lounge in London, and consequently commanded a great deal of very agreeable society of which that exclusive dame could not have the faintest notion. Mrs. Montpellier's little suppers on Saturday nights; Mrs. Montpellier's luncheons-her dinners-her choice picnics-her well-selected parties all went off without hitch or contretemps. If you were dying to meet body,' and dined with Mrs. Montpellier, you were sure to go down to dinner with that 'somebody' and no other on your arm. If you wondered what had become of your old chum whom you had never seen since he pulled next you in the ten-oar at Eton, or went

VOL. LXIII, NO. CCCLXXIV.

some

181

up the breach alongside of you at Sobraon, ten to one you found him at luncheon at Mrs. Montpellier's. If you wanted a fourth in that barouche which was going anywhere out of town, who must amuse and interest the other three all the way there and back again,' you had but to draw Mrs. Montpellier's pretty house between two and five, and you might select your companion from the pleasantest people in London. No wonder the young men dropped in so naturally at Mrs. Montpellier's and stayed there, as Lady Visigoth viciously remarked, 'so long!'

The hostess herself was, to do her justice, no slight attraction. Though a good deal past thirtyindeed as far past as she well could be-she was bright and handsome still. Very dark, her complexion had deepened rather than faded under an Indian sun, and her black hair was as yet unstreaked with a line of grey. Her features, though irregular, had extraordinary play and brilliancy. She dressed, too, to perfection, and was never to be surprised in unbecoming colours or costume; while her figure, which had always been her strong point (and a very strong point such a figure is), preserved its symmetrical outline, and remained lithe and undulating as in the days of her first honeymoon. Altogether people were justified in their general expression of wonder why Mrs. Montpellier didn't marry again'a question Lady Visigoth delighted to answer with a shrug of her broad bony shoulders, and in a tone of mysterious defiance truly intimidating.

'There may be fifty reasonsGoodness only knows!' Doctor Johnson loved a good hater; the quality to less vigorous minds is perhaps suggestive of awe rather than affection. I admire its wondrous development on occasion in the female breast. For the converse of that charity which the Apostle enjoins that pure white mantle which can cover all the scarlet stains of sin, aye, and wrap a shivering wounded neighbour too in its kindly folds-for the self

N

righteousness that puffeth up and vaunteth its own merits, that thinketh evil, that suffereth not long, and is easily provoked-for a thorough-going and practical opposition to the true fundamental precepts of Christianity, commend me to the merciless rancour of a virtuous British matron such as my Lady Visigoth.

Gilbert was a prime favourite with his hostess. Indeed he was very generally popular amongst women, from the damsel in her teens, just 'out,' who voted him very good-natured,' and was not 'the least afraid' of him, to the passée woman of the world who found something interesting and unusual in a certain freshness of sentiment and originality of thought which he never entirely lost, and to whom his little affectations of indolence and sans-souci were amusing because so utterly transparent. He would laugh at himself, too, and with them, in the most perfect good humour. He was not to be put out by any disappointment, and never seemed to care enough about anything to make him cross. Then he was not the least given to 'making love' to them; and let satirists say what they will about the craving for conquest implanted in the gentler sex, they do like a man who will at once put them on an equal intellectual footing with himself, and who offers them frank confidence and respect rather than admiration, which they suspect to be false, and flattery so sweet as to become unpalatable.

Mrs. Montpellier shook him by both hands, and bade him sit down and eat. I thought you were never coming to see me again, Mr. Orme,' said the hospitable lady; and it's no use asking you to dinner, for you're always engaged. Now what will you have? Everything's cold. This is the first day I've lunched alone for six weeks. What have you been doing all these ages? Now do tell me all about yourself.'

This last request, I may observe in parenthesis, is essentially feminine. To me, as propounded by a

gentle refined being, it always ap pears a complete staggerer. Would they really like to know, and how could the best and wisest of us tell them?

'Oh,' answered Gilbert, 'that is easily done. My time is chiefly employed in learning to work cross-stitch backwards, winding silks for my cousin, and reading good books to my mother.'

She held up a pretty finger at him, as one would threaten a child.

'No, nonsense,' said Mrs. Montpellier. 'I hear all sorts of stories about you. Come, out with it; make a clean breast of it, and begin.'

Virtue is always liable to scandal,' replied he, laughing. With the exception of the pursuits I have named, I have been fulfilling my daily duties, and earning the reward of a good conscience. With Holyhead to help me, I have been much employed in doing nothing; have done it rather well, and a good deal of it.'

'Are you going down to Richmond with Lord Holyhead to-day? asked the lady, looking sharply and meaningly in his face. “I hope not. I don't approve of your friend. I don't approve of your party. You see I know everything."'

Of course you do. You sat next him at dinner yesterday at the St. Quentin's. You had on the yellow dress-the one with black lace; not the pale one with roses. It was stupid of that servant to upset a cream over it. Woe is me! I shall never see that yellow gown again.'

How do you know all this?' 'Never mind. I was sure Holyhead had seen you, because he was so restless and uncomfortable this morning. He has moved every article of furniture in my room, and broken two vases and a small china tea-pot; but he didn't dare mention your name. A little bird told me about the cream.'

The widow laughed, but she did not blush. Lord Holyhead's impenetrable nature was so well known, that it was a standing joke

to quiz her on having subjugated him a joke she herself took in exceedingly good part.

'I believe you were there yourself, Mr. Orme,' said she, rising to adjourn to the drawing-room. 'I believe you were the footman that did it, and had disguised yourself for the purpose, as the gallants about the French court used to do in Louis Quatorze's time. Fancy being forbid to speak to a man on peril of your life, and his marching up to you with the tea-tray, or bringing you the vegetables at dinner. Ah, those were days. People never do such things now. There are no devoted lovers in the nineteenth century.'

'Don't be too sure of that, Mrs. Montpellier. Why did Holyhead stay so late, except to put you into your carriage? You see I know that too.'

The

'You are too absurd. Talking of carriages, will you drive down with me to-day to Kew Gardens? Much better for you than that odious Richmond party. Ringdoves are coming. They both like you so much; and I must have a fourth, for they are still so taken up with each other. I wonder if it will last. We'll hear the band play, and drive back again to a

183

quiet dinner here; then we shall all be quite fresh for Lady Clearwell's. By the bye, did you go to the morning concert yesterday? I hear it was rather good. Tell me all about it.'

Gilbert was intensely provoked. Do what he would, the colour rose to his face as if he had been a schoolboy. Though he shifted his position and got into another chair, he did not do it well, and he felt that Mrs. Montpellier could not but remark his confusion. Luckily, just then other visitors were announced, and he took his leave; but not till she had shot another of those sharp inquiring glances of hers point-blank at him. When he got into the street he remembered that he had never replied to her good-natured offer of a seat in her carriage. He who was generally so composed and indolent and imperturbable-what had come over him?

"There's something very queer about me to-day,' thought Gilbert, as he turned once more into South Audley-street. If I didn't believe it's impossible, I should think I was getting nervous. This sort of thing wont do at all. Hang it, I'll jump into a Hansom and go and see John Gordon !'

IT

was my good fortune before I attained the age of twenty-one to have travelled over a great part of Europe en poste, so that I had even in my teens an especial horror of the dirt, the discomfort, and the disagreeableness of diligences. A diligence was always with me in my early days a pis aller; and if I could travel by any other conveyance to or from any part of France, it was my chief object to do so. Even by taking the whole coupé, or by taking it with your friend or servant, you did not escape contact with nasty or ill-bred people in the intérieur or the rotonde-people who were not seldom rude and disagreeable. Five-and-thirty years ago the classes travelling in the intérieur and the rotonde were chiefly John and Jane Bulls on their monthly holiday, English milliners and modistes seeking the fashions, dealers in articles de Paris,' or in 'articles de virtu,' dealers in old china, in velours d'Utrecht, in marqueterie, old pictures, in old chairs, in old plaque used as dogs for grates, and in all the hundreds of knickknackeries and jimcrackeries to be found in the old curiosityshops in Wardour-street, in Bondstreet, and occasionally at Christie's and Phillips's auction-rooms, or at Squibbs', who then lived at a place called Squibbs'-passage, leading from Conduit-street to Saville-row, now called Saville-passage. Many of these travelling dealers to Paris were Hebrews of ignoble and sordid natures; and most of them, whether Hebrews or Christians, were very unsavoury at a dinner or a breakfast-table, for unfortunately among certain ranks and classes l'humanité Chrétienne dans ce monde ici-bas, pue autant q'une autre Chrétienne ou non Chrétienne. Nor were the John and Jane Bulls, or the milliners and modistes, always pleasant companions for even the one hour

allotted to dinner or for the half hour allotted to breakfast or to supper. John and Jane were inveterate grumblers; complained that there was no 'biled' beef, no 'biled' legs of mutton, no caper sauce, no turnips, carrots, or good bohea; no veal cutlets and mushrooms, no hashed mutton or minced veal, and above all, no roast ribs or sirloins of beef, as in Fleet-street and the Strand, in any part of France. Loud were in consequence the objurgations. As to the milliners and modistes, their chief grievances arose from the absence of buttered toast and muffins at the breakfast and tea

table, and at the equally lamented absence of oyster, shrimp, and anchovy sauces from the table-d'hôte at dinner. The mutton-chops too, according to these people, were unpeppered and unsalted; there was no mushroom catsup in the gravies or sauces, and neither Chester, Chedder, nor double Gloster cheeses graced the French dinner board, whether at Montreuil sur Mer, at Abbeville, at Amiens, or at Beauvais. To hear lamentations of this kind was not pleasant to any one conscious of the superior merits of French cookery, even at a diligence dinner five-and-thirty years ago. True, the fricandeau de veau à l'oseille placed before the passengers might be hard and dry, and may have been a rechauffe of three weeks' standing; but if this plat were insipid and tasteless, there was always an eatable bouillon or soup, an excellent bouilli, a tolerable fricassée de poulet, or a decent poularde, or, better than all, a dish of those côtelettes de mouton or côtelettes de veau au naturel which we cannot even yet approach or imitate in civilized England. But let the dinner be good, bad, or indifferent, travelling John in times long past always grumbled; and if there was an Irish priest in the