n brilliants; it don't do, I assure you it don't'" Stocmar gave
such a close imitation of the worthy banker's voice and utterance, that
his partner laughed heartily.

"Does he ever give a dinner, Trover?" asked Stocmar.

"Oh yes, he gives one every quarter. Our graver clients, who would not
venture to come up here, dine with him, and he treats them to sirloins
and saddles, with Gordon's sherry and a very fruity port, made
especially, I believe, for men with good balances to their names."

"I should like to be present at one of these festivals." "You have no
chance, Stocmar; he'd as soon think of inviting the _corps de ballet_ to
tea. I myself am never admitted to such celebrations."

"What rogues these fellows are, Ludlow!" said Stocmar. "If you and I
were to treat the world in this fashion, what would be said of us! The
real humbugs of this life are the fellows that play the heavy parts."
And with this reflection, whose image was derived from his theatrical
experiences, he arose, to take his coffee on the terrace.

CHAPTER XXXI. IN THE TOILS

Mrs. Morris gave directions that when a gentleman should call to inquire
for her he should be at once introduced, a brief note from Mr. Trover
having apprised her that Mr. Stocmar had just arrived, and would wait
upon her without further delay. There was not in her air or manner the
slightest trait of inquietude or even impatience; as she sat there,
still stitching away at her Berlin elephant, she seemed an emblem of
calm, peaceful contentedness. Her half-mourning, perhaps, sobered
down somewhat the character of her appearance; but these lilac-colored
ribbons harmonized well with her fair skin, and became her much.

With a tact all her own, she had carefully avoided in the arrangement of
her room any of those little artistic effects which, however successful
with the uninitiated, would be certain of a significant appreciation
from one familiar with stage "get up" and all the suggestive accessories
of the playhouse. "No," thought she,--"no half-open miniatures, no
moss-roses in Bohemian glass--not even a camellia--on my work-table for
Mr. Stocmar." Even Lila, her Italian greyhound, was dismissed from
her accustomed cushion on that morning, lest her presence might argue
effect.

She knew well that such men as Stocmar have a sort of instinctive
appreciation of a locality, and she determined he should have the fewest
possible aids to his interpretation of herself. If, at