; we will take you in with us."

Wilfrid hoped eagerly he might be allowed to hand them to the door, and
made three skips across the mire. Emilia had her hands gathered away
from the chances of seizure. In wild rage he began protesting that he
could not possibly enter, when Georgiana said, "I wish to speak to you,"
and put feminine pressure upon him. He was almost on the verge of the
word "beer," by way of despairing explanation, when the door closed
behind him.

"Permit me to say a word to your recent companion. He is my father's
clerk. I had to see him on urgent business; that is why I took this
liberty," he said, and retreated.

Braintop was still there, quietly posted, performing upon his head with
a pocket hair-brush.

Wilfrid put Braintop's back to the light, and said, "Is my shirt
soiled?"

After a short inspection, Braintop pronounced that it was, "just a
little."

"Do you smell anything?" said Wilfrid, and hung with frightful suspense
on the verdict. "A fellow upset beer on me."

"It is beer!" sniffed Braintop.

"What on earth shall I do?" was the rejoinder; and Wilfrid tried to
remember whether he had felt any sacred joy in touching Emilia's dress
as they went up the steps to the door.

Braintop fumbled in the breast-pocket of his coat. "I happen to have,"
he said, rather shamefacedly.

"What is it?"

"Mrs. Chump gave it to me to-day. She always makes me accept something:
I can't refuse. It's this:--the remains of some scent she insisted on my
taking, in a bottle."

Wilfrid plucked at the stopper with a reckless desperation, saturated
his handkerchief, and worked at his breast as if he were driving a lusty
dagger into it.

"What scent is it?" he asked hurriedly.

"Alderman's Bouquet, sir."

"Of all the detestable!---" Wilfrid had no time for more, owing to fresh
arrivals. He hastened in, with his smiling, wary face, half trusting
that there might after all be purification in Alderman's Bouquet, and
promising heaven due gratitude if Emilia's senses discerned not the
curse on him. In the hall a gust from the great opening contention
between Alderman's Bouquet and bad beer, stifled his sickly hope.
Frantic, but under perfect self-command outwardly, he glanced to right
and left, for the suggestion of a means of escape. They were seven steps
up the stairs before his wits prompted him to say to Georgiana, "I have
just heard very serious news from home. I fear--"

"What?--or, pardon me: does it