I should come to breakfast, and I
acceded to her request, as Madame Bathurst, who was not an early riser,
would not be down at the hour mentioned, and I wished to leave the house
without seeing her again, after our formal adieux. Having arranged
this, she appeared to be in a great hurry to be off, and skipped out of
the room before I could ring the bell to order her carriage.

I completed my preparations for departure, and had some dinner brought
into my own room, sending down an excuse for not joining Madame
Bathurst, stating that I had a bad headache, which was true enough. The
next morning, long before Madame Bathurst was up, I was driven to Baker
Street, Portman Square, where Lady R--resided. I found her ladyship in
her _robe de chambre_.

"Well," said she, "this is delightful. My wishes are crowned at last.
I have passed a night of uncertainty, rolling about between hopes and
fears, as people always do when they have so much at stake. Let me show
you your room."

I found a very well-furnished apartment prepared for me, looking out
upon the street.

"See, you have a front view," she said, "not extensive, but still you
can rise early and moralise. You can see London wake up. First, the
drowsy policeman; the tired cabman and more tired horse after a night of
motion, seeking the stable and repose; the housemaid, half awake,
dragging on her clothes; the kitchen-wench washing from the steps the
dirt of yesterday; the milkmaid's falsetto and the dustman's bass; the
baker's boys, the early post delivery, and thus from units to tens, and
from tens to tens of thousands, and London stirs again. There is poetry
in that, and now let us down to breakfast. I always breakfast in my
_robe de chambre_; you must do the same, that is if you like the
fashion. Where's the page?"

Lady R--rang the bell of the sitting-room, which she called a boudoir,
and a lad of fourteen, in a blue blouse and leather belt made his
appearance.

"Lionel, breakfast in a moment. Vanish, before the leviathan can swim a
league--bring up hot rolls and butter."

"Yes, my lady," replied the lad, pertly, "I'll be up again before the
chap can swim a hundred yards," and he shot out of the room in a second.

"There's virtue in that boy, he has wit enough for a prime minister or a
clown at Astley's. I picked him up by a mere chance; he is one of my
models."

What her ladyship meant by models I could not imagine, but I soon found
out; the retu