e type and realisation of all the heroes of
all those darling greasy volumes which the young girl had devoured. Mr.
Pen, we have seen, was rather a dandy about shirts and haberdashery in
general. Fanny had looked with delight at the fineness of his linen,
at the brilliancy of his shirt-studs, at his elegant cambric
pocket-handkerchief and white gloves, and at the jetty brightness of his
charming boots. The Prince had appeared and subjugated the poor little
handmaid. His image traversed constantly her restless slumbers; the tone
of his voice, the blue light of his eyes, the generous look, half
love, half pity,--the manly protecting smile, the frank, winning
laughter,--all these were repeated in the girl's fond memory. She felt
still his arm encircling her, and saw him smiling so grand as he filled
up that delicious glass of champagne. And then she thought of the girls,
her friends, who used to sneer at her--of Emma Baker, who was so proud,
forsooth, because she was engaged to a cheesemonger, in a white apron,
near Clare Market; and of Betsy Rodgers, who make such a to-do about her
young man--an attorney's clerk, indeed, that went about with a bag!

So that, at about two o'clock in the afternoon--the Bolton family having
concluded their dinner (and Mr. B., who besides his place of porter of
the Inn, was in the employ of Messrs. Tressler, the eminent undertakers
of the Strand, being absent in the country with the Countess of
Estrich's hearse), when a gentleman in a white hat and white trousers
made his appearance under the Inn archway, and stopped at the porter's
wicket, Fanny was not in the least surprised, only delightful, only
happy, and blushing beyond all measure. She knew it could be no other
than He. She knew He'd come. There he was; there was His Royal Highness
beaming upon her from the gate. She called to her mother, who was busy
in the upper apartment, "Mamma, mamma," and ran to the wicket at once,
and opened it, pushing aside the other children. How she blushed as she
gave her hand to him! How affably he took off his white hat as he came
in; the children staring up at him! He asked Mrs. Bolton if she had
slept well, after the fatigues of the night, and hoped she had no
headache; and he said that as he was going that way, he could not pass
the door without asking news of his little partner.

Mrs. Bolton was perhaps rather shy and suspicious about these advances;
but Mr. Pen's good-humour was inexhaustible, he cou