n an approving manner on being 'very lively
to-night', handed her back to her chair.

'He has a proud stomach, this chap,' said Mr F.'s relation, on being
reseated. 'Give him a meal of chaff!'

'Oh! I don't think he would like that, aunt,' returned Flora.

'Give him a meal of chaff, I tell you,' said Mr F.'s Aunt, glaring round
Flora on her enemy. 'It's the only thing for a proud stomach. Let him
eat up every morsel. Drat him, give him a meal of chaff!'

Under a general pretence of helping him to this refreshment, Flora got
him out on the staircase; Mr F.'s Aunt even then constantly reiterating,
with inexpressible bitterness, that he was 'a chap,' and had a 'proud
stomach,' and over and over again insisting on that equine provision
being made for him which she had already so strongly prescribed.

'Such an inconvenient staircase and so many corner-stairs Arthur,'
whispered Flora, 'would you object to putting your arm round me under my
pelerine?'

With a sense of going down-stairs in a highly-ridiculous manner, Clennam
descended in the required attitude, and only released his fair burden at
the dining-room door; indeed, even there she was rather difficult to
be got rid of, remaining in his embrace to murmur, 'Arthur, for mercy's
sake, don't breathe it to papa!'

She accompanied Arthur into the room, where the Patriarch sat alone,
with his list shoes on the fender, twirling his thumbs as if he had
never left off. The youthful Patriarch, aged ten, looked out of his
picture-frame above him with no calmer air than he. Both smooth heads
were alike beaming, blundering, and bumpy.

'Mr Clennam, I am glad to see you. I hope you are well, sir, I hope you
are well. Please to sit down, please to sit down.'

'I had hoped, sir,' said Clennam, doing so, and looking round with a
face of blank disappointment, 'not to find you alone.'

'Ah, indeed?' said the Patriarch, sweetly. 'Ah, indeed?'

'I told you so you know papa,' cried Flora.

'Ah, to be sure!' returned the Patriarch. 'Yes, just so. Ah, to be
sure!'

'Pray, sir,'demanded Clennam, anxiously, 'is Miss Wade gone?'

'Miss--? Oh, you call her Wade,' returned Mr Casby. 'Highly proper.'
Arthur quickly returned, 'What do you call her?'

'Wade,' said Mr Casby. 'Oh, always Wade.'

After looking at the philanthropic visage and the long silky white hair
for a few seconds, during which Mr Casby twirled his thumbs, and smiled
at the fire as if he were benevolently wishing i