"I have heard a great deal of music, in London,"
he continued. "I'm tired of those professional people--they sing too
loud--or I have grown too old or too blase. One grows old very soon, in
London, Miss Amory. And like all old fellows, I only care for the songs
I heard in my youth."

"I like English music best. I don't care for foreign songs much. Get me
some saddle of mutton," said Mr. Foker.

"I adore English ballads, of all things," said Miss Amory.

"Sing me one of the old songs after dinner, will you?" said Pen, with an
imploring voice.

"Shall I sing you an English song, after dinner?" asked the Sylphide,
turning to Mr. Foker. "I will, if you will promise to come up soon:" and
she gave him a perfect broadside of her eyes.

"I'll come up after dinner, fast enough," he said, simply. "I don't care
about much wine afterwards--I take my whack at dinner--I mean my share,
you know; and when I have had as much as I want I toddle up to tea. I'm
a domestic character, Miss Amory--my habits are simple--and when I'm
pleased I'm generally in a good-humour, ain't I, Pen?--that jelly, if
you please--not that one, the other with the cherries inside. How the
doose do they get those cherries inside the jellies?" In this way
the artless youth prattled on: and Miss Amory listened to him with
inexhaustible good-humour. When the ladies took their departure for the
upper regions, Blanche made the two young men promise faithfully to quit
the table soon, and departed with kind glances to each. She dropped her
gloves on Foker's side of the table and her handkerchief on Pen's. Each
had had some little attention paid to him: her politeness to Mr. Foker
was perhaps a little more encouraging than her kindness to Arthur: but
the benevolent little creature did her best to make both the gentlemen
happy. Foker caught her last glance as she rushed out of the door; that
bright look passed over Mr. Strong's broad white waistcoat and shot
straight at Harry Foker's. The door closed on the charmer: he sate down
with a sigh, and swallowed a bumper of claret.

As the dinner at which Pen and his uncle took their places was not one
of our grand parties, it had been served at a considerably earlier hour
than those ceremonial banquets of the London season, which custom has
ordained shall scarcely take place before nine o'clock; and, the company
being small, and Miss Blanche anxious to betake herself to her piano in
the drawing-room, giving constant hint