bove all, the prospects of an
excellent dinner, soon brought my fair companion round again, and by the
time we reached the Moulin Rouge, she was all vivacity and good temper.
The less I say about that dinner the better. I am humiliated when I
recall all that I suffered, and all that she did. I blush even now when
I remember how she blew upon her soup, put her knife in her mouth, and
picked her teeth with her shawl-pin. What possessed her that she would
persist in calling the waiter "Monsieur?" And why, in Heaven's name,
need she have clapped her hands when I ordered the champagne? To say
that I had no appetite--that I wished myself at the antipodes--that I
longed to sink into my boots, to smother the waiter, or to do anything
equally desperate and unreasonable, is to express but a tithe of the
anguish I endured. I bore it, however, in silence, little dreaming what
a much heavier trial was yet in store for me.

CHAPTER XXI.

I FALL A SACRIFICE TO MRS. GRUNDY.

"A word with you, if you please, Basil Arbuthnot," said Dr. Cheron,
"when you have finished copying those prescriptions."

Dr. Cheron was standing with his feet firmly planted in the tiger-skin
rug and his back to the fireplace. I was busy writing at the study
table, and glancing anxiously from time to time at the skeleton clock
upon the chimney-piece; for it was getting on fast towards five, and at
half-past six I was to take Josephine to the Opera Comique. As perverse
fortune would have it, the Doctor had this afternoon given me more
desk-work than usual, and I began to doubt whether I should be able to
dine, dress, and reach the theatre in time if he detained me
much longer.

"But you need be in no haste," he added, looking at his watch. "That is
to say, upon my account."

I bowed nervously--I was always nervous in his presence--and tried to
write faster than ever; but, feeling his cold blue eye upon me, made a
blot, smeared it with my sleeve, left one word out, wrote another twice
over, and was continually tripped up by my pen, which sputtered
hideously and covered the page with florid passages in little round
spots, which only needed tails to become crotchets and quavers. At
length, just as the clock struck the hour, I finished my task and laid
aside my pen.

Dr. Cheron coughed preparatorily.

"It is some time," said he, "since you have given me any news of your
father. Do you often hear from him?"

"Not very often, sir," I replied. "About once