shold of
the dining-room. The sight that met her eyes was one well calculated to
inspire astonishment. The mantelpiece was arrayed with saucepans and
empty bottles; on the fire some chops were frying; the floor was
littered from end to end with books, clothes, walking-canes, and the
materials of the painter's craft; but what far outstripped the other
wonders of the place was the corner which had been arranged for the
study of still-life. This formed a sort of rockery; conspicuous upon
which, according to the principles of the art of composition, a cabbage
was relieved against a copper kettle, and both contrasted with the mail
of a boiled lobster.

"My gracious goodness!" cried the lady of the house; and then, turning
in wrath on the young man, "From what rank in life are you sprung?" she
demanded. "You have the exterior of a gentleman; but from the
astonishing evidences before me, I should say you can only be a
green-grocer's man. Pray, gather up your vegetables, and let me see no
more of you."

"Madam," babbled Somerset, "you promised me a month's warning."

"That was under a misapprehension," returned the old lady. "I now give
you warning to leave at once."

"Madam," said the young man, "I wish I could; and indeed, as far as I am
concerned, it might be done. But then, my lodger!"

"Your lodger?" echoed Mrs. Luxmore.

"My lodger: why should I deny it?" returned Somerset. "He is only by the
week."

The old lady sat down upon a chair. "You have a lodger?--you?" she
cried. "And pray, how did you get him?"

"By advertisement," replied the young man. "O madam, I have not lived
unobservantly. I adopted"--his eyes involuntarily shifted to the
cartoons--"I adopted every method."

Her eyes had followed his; for the first time in Somerset's experience,
she produced a double eyeglass; and as soon as the full merit of the
works had flashed upon her, she gave way to peal after peal of her
trilling and soprano laughter.

"Oh, I think you are perfectly delicious!" she cried. "I do hope you had
them in the window. M'Pherson," she continued, crying to her maid, who
had been all this time grimly waiting in the hall, "I lunch with Mr.
Somerset. Take the cellar key and bring some wine."

In this gay humour she continued throughout the luncheon; presented
Somerset with a couple of dozen of wine, which she made M'Pherson bring
up from the cellar--"as a present, my dear," she said, with another
burst of tearful merriment, "for