e good enough for--"

"I will NOT have it, mamma!" said Rosa, with a stamp of her foot; and
Mrs. Gashleigh knew what resolution there was in that. Once, when she
had tried to physic the baby, there had been a similar fight between
them.

So Mrs. Gashleigh made out a carte, in which the soup was left with
a dash--a melancholy vacuum; and in which the pigeons were certainly
thrust in among the entrees; but Rosa determined they never should make
an entree at all into HER dinner-party, but that she would have the
dinner her own way.

When Fitz returned, then, and after he had paid the little bill of 6L.
14s. 6d. for the glass, Rosa flew to him with her sweetest smiles, and
the baby in her arms. And after she had made him remark how the child
grew every day more and more like him, and after she had treated him to
a number of compliments and caresses, which it were positively fulsome
to exhibit in public, and after she had soothed him into good humor
by her artless tenderness, she began to speak to him about some little
points which she had at heart.

She pointed out with a sigh how shabby the old curtains looked since the
dear new glasses which her darling Fitz had given her had been put up in
the drawing-room. Muslin curtains cost nothing, and she must and would
have them.

The muslin curtains were accorded. She and Fitz went and bought them
at Shoolbred's, when you may be sure she treated herself likewise to
a neat, sweet pretty half-mourning (for the Court, you know, is in
mourning)--a neat sweet barege, or calimanco, or bombazine, or tiffany,
or some such thing; but Madame Camille, of Regent Street, made it up,
and Rosa looked like an angel in it on the night of her little dinner.

"And, my sweet," she continued, after the curtains had been accorded,
"mamma and I have been talking about the dinner. She wants to make
it very expensive, which I cannot allow. I have been thinking of a
delightful and economical plan, and you, my sweetest Fitz, must put it
into execution."

"I have cooked a mutton-chop when I was in chambers," Fitz said with a
laugh. "Am I to put on a cap and an apron?"

"No: but you are to go to the 'Megatherium Club' (where, you wretch,
you are always going without my leave), and you are to beg Monsieur
Mirobolant, your famous cook, to send you one of his best aides-de-camp,
as I know he will, and with his aid we can dress the dinner and
the confectionery at home for ALMOST NOTHING, and we can sho