down for a few days? I am going down on Friday, and you
know how dreadful it is for a poor lone woman to be in a hotel,
especially with a maid who spends all her time in flirting with the
first-floor waiters. Now, won't you, dear? I assure you the ---- Hotel
is most charming--such freedom, and the pleasant parties they make up
in the drawing-room! I believe they have a ball two or three nights a
week just now."

"I should have thought you would have found the ---- rather quieter,"
said Mr. Roscorla, naming a good, old-fashioned house.

"Rather quieter?" said the widow, raising her eyebrows. "Yes, a good
deal quieter? About as quiet as a dissenting chapel. No, no: if one
means to have a little pleasure, why go to such a place as that? Now,
will you come and prove the truth of what I have told you?"

Mr. Roscorla looked alarmed, and even the solemn Lady Weekes had to
conceal a smile.

"Of course I mean you to persuade our friends here to come too," the
widow explained. "What a delightful frolic it would be--for a few
days, you know--to break away from London! Now, my dear, what do you
say?"

She turned to her hostess. That small and sombre person referred her
to the general. The general, on being appealed to, said he thought it
would be a capital joke; and would Mr. Roscorla go with them? Mr.
Roscorla, not seeing why he should not have a little frolic of this
sort, just like any one else, said he would. So they agreed to meet at
Victoria Station on the following Friday.

"Struck, eh?" said the old general when the two gentlemen were alone
after dinner. "Has she wounded you, eh? Gad, sir! that woman has eight
thousand pounds a year in the India Four per Cents. Would you believe
it? Would you believe that any man could have been such a fool as to
put such a fortune into India Four per Cents.?--with mortgages going
a-begging at six, and the marine insurance companies paying thirteen!
Well, my boy, what do you think of her? She was most uncommonly
attentive to you, that I'll swear: don't deny it--now, don't deny it.
Bless my soul! you marrying men are so sly there is no getting at you.
Well, what was I saying? Yes, yes--will she do? Eight thousand a year,
as I'm a living sinner!"

Mr. Roscorla was intensely flattered to have it even supposed that the
refusal of such a fortune was within his power.

"Well," said he, modestly and yet critically, "she's not quite my
style. I'm rather afraid of three-deckers. But she se