s on a liberal scale, so was Mrs. Downey herself.
She was expansive in her person, prodigal in sympathy, exuberant in
dress. If she had one eye to the main chance, the other smiled at you
in pure benignity. On her round face was a festal flush, flooding and
effacing the little care-worn lines and wrinkles which appeared on it
by day. It wore the colour of the hour which, evening after evening,
renewed for her the great drama and spectacle of the Dinner.

Her table was disposed with a view to scenic effect. It was not by
accident that Mrs. Downey herself was seated at the obscure or
sideboard end, and that she gathered round her there the older and
less attractive members of her circle. This arrangement was flattering
to them, for it constituted an order of precedence and they were in
the seats of honour. It had also the further advantage of giving
prominence to the young people whose brilliant appearance of an
evening was as good as an advertisement for Mrs. Downey's.

First then, at the top of the table, sat two elderly ladies,
dishevelled birds of passage, guests of a day and a night. Next, on
Mrs. Downey's right, came old Miss Bramble, with old Mr. Partridge
opposite on the left. The young gentleman at the extreme bottom or
public end of the table was Mr. Spinks. He was almost blatantly
visible from the street. At Mr. Spinks's side sat Miss Ada Bishop,
the young lady in the fascinating pink blouse; and opposite him, Miss
Flossie Walker, in the still more fascinating blue. To the left of
Miss Bishop in the very centre of the table was a middle-aged
commercial gentleman, Mr. Soper (not specially conspicuous); and
facing him and on Miss Walker's right came Miss Roots, who might be
any age you please between thirty and forty. Between them at the
present moment, there was an empty chair.

Miss Roots was the link between the melancholy decadence above the
aspidistras and the glorious and triumphant youth below. As far as
could be inferred with any certainty she had leanings to the side of
youth. Her presence was no restraint upon its glad and frolicsome
humour. It felt that it could trust her. She had never been known to
betray any of the secrets that passed at the risk of their lives from
Miss Bishop's side of the table to Miss Walker's. There was reason to
suppose that Miss Roots was aware of the surreptitious manufacture of
bread pellets by Mr. Spinks (Mr. Spinks being the spirit of youth
incarnate); but when one of