n appearance, and bordered with a paste of
white sugar an inch and a half deep.

'What should you say this was?' demanded Mr Swiveller.

'It looks like bride-cake,' replied the dwarf, grinning.

'And whose should you say it was?' inquired Mr Swiveller, rubbing the
pastry against his nose with a dreadful calmness. 'Whose?'

'Not--'

'Yes,' said Dick, 'the same. You needn't mention her name. There's no
such name now. Her name is Cheggs now, Sophy Cheggs. Yet loved I as
man never loved that hadn't wooden legs, and my heart, my heart is
breaking for the love of Sophy Cheggs.'

With this extemporary adaptation of a popular ballad to the distressing
circumstances of his own case, Mr Swiveller folded up the parcel again,
beat it very flat between the palms of his hands, thrust it into his
breast, buttoned his coat over it, and folded his arms upon the whole.

'Now, I hope you're satisfied, sir,' said Dick; 'and I hope Fred's
satisfied. You went partners in the mischief, and I hope you like it.
This is the triumph I was to have, is it? It's like the old
country-dance of that name, where there are two gentlemen to one lady,
and one has her, and the other hasn't, but comes limping up behind to
make out the figure. But it's Destiny, and mine's a crusher.'

Disguising his secret joy in Mr Swiveller's defeat, Daniel Quilp
adopted the surest means of soothing him, by ringing the bell, and
ordering in a supply of rosy wine (that is to say, of its usual
representative), which he put about with great alacrity, calling upon
Mr Swiveller to pledge him in various toasts derisive of Cheggs, and
eulogistic of the happiness of single men. Such was their impression
on Mr Swiveller, coupled with the reflection that no man could oppose
his destiny, that in a very short space of time his spirits rose
surprisingly, and he was enabled to give the dwarf an account of the
receipt of the cake, which, it appeared, had been brought to Bevis
Marks by the two surviving Miss Wackleses in person, and delivered at
the office door with much giggling and joyfulness.

'Ha!' said Quilp. 'It will be our turn to giggle soon. And that
reminds me--you spoke of young Trent--where is he?'

Mr Swiveller explained that his respectable friend had recently
accepted a responsible situation in a locomotive gaming-house, and was
at that time absent on a professional tour among the adventurous
spirits of Great Britain.

'That's unfortunate,' said the d