enrietta. Contending with my easy
disposition, I frequently got up to go after her. She also dwelt in the
neighbourhood of the Obstacle, and I did fondly hope that no other would
interpose in the way of our union.

To say that Henrietta was volatile is but to say that she was woman. To
say that she was in the bonnet-trimming is feebly to express the taste
which reigned predominant in her own.

She consented to walk with me. Let me do her the justice to say that she
did so upon trial. "I am not," said Henrietta, "as yet prepared to
regard you, Thomas, in any other light than as a friend; but as a friend
I am willing to walk with you, on the understanding that softer
sentiments may flow."

We walked.

Under the influence of Henrietta's beguilements, I now got out of bed
daily. I pursued my calling with an industry before unknown, and it
cannot fail to have been observed at that period, by those most familiar
with the streets of London, that there was a larger supply. But hold!
The time is not yet come!

One evening in October I was walking with Henrietta, enjoying the cool
breezes wafted over Vauxhall Bridge. After several slow turns, Henrietta
gaped frequently (so inseparable from woman is the love of excitement),
and said, "Let's go home by Grosvenor Place, Piccadilly, and
Waterloo"--localities, I may state for the information of the stranger
and the foreigner, well known in London, and the last a Bridge.

"No. Not by Piccadilly, Henrietta," said I.

"And why not Piccadilly, for goodness' sake?" said Henrietta.

Could I tell her? Could I confess to the gloomy presentiment that
overshadowed me? Could I make myself intelligible to her? No.

"I don't like Piccadilly, Henrietta."

"But I do," said she. "It's dark now, and the long rows of lamps in
Piccadilly after dark are beautiful. I _will_ go to Piccadilly!"

Of course we went. It was a pleasant night, and there were numbers of
people in the streets. It was a brisk night, but not too cold, and not
damp. Let me darkly observe, it was the best of all nights--FOR THE
PURPOSE.

As we passed the garden wall of the Royal Palace, going up Grosvenor
Place, Henrietta murmured:

"I wish I was a Queen!"

"Why so, Henrietta?"

"I would make _you_ Something," said she, and crossed her two hands on my
arm, and turned away her head.

Judging from this that the softer sentiments alluded to above had begun
to flow, I adapted my conduct to that belief