taly had likewise her thoughts.

CHAPTER VII. BETWEEN A GENERAL MAN OF THIN WORLD AND A PROFESSIONAL.
Rather earlier in the afternoon of that day, Simeon Fenellan, thinking
of the many things which are nothing, and so melancholy for lack of
amusements properly to follow Old Veuve, that he could ask himself
whether he had not done a deed of night, to be blinking at his
fellow-men like an owl all mad for the reveller's hoots and flights
and mice and moony roundels behind his hypocritical judex air of moping
composure, chanced on Mr. Carling, the solicitor, where Lincoln's Inn
pumps lawyers into Fleet Street through the drain-pipe of Chancery Lane.
He was in the state of the wine when a shake will rouse the sluggish
sparkles to foam. Sight of Mrs. Burman's legal adviser had instantly
this effect upon him: his bubbling friendliness for Victor Radnor, and
the desire of the voice in his bosom for ears to hear, combined like the
rush of two waves together, upon which he may be figured as the boat: he
caught at Mr. Carling's hand more heartily than their acquaintanceship
quite sanctioned; but his grasp and his look of overflowing were
immediately privileged; Mr. Carling, enjoying this anecdotal gentleman's
conversation as he did, liked the warmth, and was flattered during the
squeeze with a prospect of his wife and friends partaking of the fun
from time to time.

'I was telling my wife yesterday your story of the lady contrabandist: I
don't think she has done laughing since,' Mr. Calling said.

Fenellan fluted: 'Ah?' He had scent, in the eulogy of a story grown flat
as Election hats, of a good sort of man in the way of men, a step or two
behind the man of the world. He expressed profound regret at not having
heard the silvery ring of the lady's laughter.

Carling genially conceived a real gratification to be conferred on his
wife. 'Perhaps you will some day honour us?'

'You spread gold-leaf over the days to come, sir.'

'Now, if I might name the day?'

'You lump the gold and make it current coin;--says the blushing bride,
who ought not to have delivered herself so boldly, but she had forgotten
her bashful part and spoilt the scene, though, luckily for the damsel,
her swain was a lover of nature, and finding her at full charge,
named the very next day of the year, and held her to it, like the
complimentary tyrant he was.'

'To-morrow, then!' said Carling intrepidly, on a dash of enthusiasm,
through a haggard thou