aited for her lead.

Mr. Swiveller and his partner played several rubbers with varying
success, until the loss of three sixpences, the gradual sinking of the
purl, and the striking of ten o'clock, combined to render that
gentleman mindful of the flight of time, and the expediency of
withdrawing before Mr. Sampson and Miss Sally Brass returned.

"With which object in view, Marchioness," said Mr. Swiveller gravely,
"I shall ask your ladyship's permission to put the board in my pocket,
and to retire from the presence when I have finished this tankard;
merely observing, Marchioness, that since life like a river is
flowing, I care not how fast it rolls on, ma'am, on, while such purl
on the bank still is growing, and such eyes light the waves as they
run. Marchioness, your health. You will excuse my wearing my hat, but
the palace is damp, and the marble floor is--if I may be allowed the
expression--sloppy."

As a precaution against this latter inconvenience, Mr. Swiveller had
been sitting for some time with his feet on the hob, in which attitude
he now gave utterance of these apologetic observations, and slowly
sipped the last choice drops of nectar.

"The Baron Sampsono Brasso and his fair sister are (you tell me) at
the play?" said Mr. Swiveller, leaning his left arm heavily upon the
table, and raising his voice and his right leg after the manner of a
theatrical bandit.

The Marchioness nodded.

"Ha!" said Mr. Swiveller, with a portentous frown. "'Tis well.
Marchioness!--but no matter. Some wine there. Ho!" He illustrated
these melodramatic morsels by handing the tankard to himself with
great humility, receiving it haughtily, drinking from it thirstily,
and smacking his lips fiercely.

The small servant, who was not so well acquainted with theatrical
conventionalities as Mr. Swiveller (having indeed never seen a play,
or heard one spoken of, except by chance through chinks of doors and
in other forbidden places), was rather alarmed by demonstrations so
novel in their nature, and showed her concern so plainly in her looks
that Mr. Swiveller felt it necessary to discharge his brigand manner
for one more suitable to private life, as he asked:

"Do they often go where glory waits 'em, and leave you here?"

"Oh, yes; I believe you they do," returned the small servant. "Miss
Sally's such a one-er for that, she is."

"Such a what?" said Dick.

"Such a one-er," returned the Marchioness.

After a moment's reflection,