ow, I know, Mr. Wilfrid. But I was just obliged to leave her at the
hotel; for Pole can't endure her. He 'bomunates the sight of 'r. If ye
aver saw a dog burnt by the fire, Pole's second to 'm, if onnly ye speak
that garl's name."

The head of a strange musician, belonging to the band stationed outside,
was thrust through one of the window apertures. Mr. Pericles beckoned him
imperiously to retire, and perform. He objected, and an altercation in
bad English diverted the company. It was changed to Italian. "Mia
figlia," seized Wilfrid's ear. Mr. Pericles bellowed, "Allegro." Two
minutes after Braintop felt a touch on his shoulder; and Wilfrid,
speaking in a tone of friend to friend, begged him to go to town by the
last train and remove Miss Belloni to an hotel, which he named.
"Certainly," said Braintop; "but if I meet her father..?" Wilfrid
summoned champagne for him; whereupon Mrs. Chump cried out, "Ye're kind
to wait upon the young man, Mr. Wilfrid; and that Mr. Braintop's an
invalu'ble young man. And what do ye want with the hotel, when we've left
it, Mr. Paricles?"

The Greek raised his head from Mr. Pole, shrugging at her openly. He and
Wilfrid then measured eyes a moment. "Some champagne togezer?" said Mr.
Pericles. "With all my heart," was the reply; and their glasses were
filled, and they bowed, and drank. Wilfrid took his seat, drew forth his
pocket-book; and while talking affably to Lady Charlotte beside him, and
affecting once or twice to ponder over her remarks, or to meditate a
fitting answer, wrote on a slip of paper under the table:--

"Mine! my angel! You will see me to-morrow.

"YOUR LOVER."

This, being inserted in an envelope, with zig-zag letters of address to
form Emilia's name, he contrived to pass to Braintop's hands, and resumed
his conversation with Lady Charlotte, who said, when there was nothing
left to discover, "But what is it you concoct down there?" "I!" cried
Wilfrid, lifting his hands, and so betraying himself after the fashion of
the very innocent. She despised any reading of acts not on the surface,
and nodded to the explanation he gave--to wit: "By the way, do you
mean--have you noticed my habit of touching my fingers' ends as I talk? I
count them backwards and forwards."

"Shows nervousness," said Lady Charlotte; "you are a boy!"

"Exceedingly a boy."

"Now I put a finger on his vanity," said she; and thought indeed that she
had played on him.

"Mr