now that Demosthenes said, Everything in oratory was
acting,--stage-play. Is it in oratory alone that the saying holds
good? Apply it to all circumstances of fife, "stage-play, stage-play,
stage-play!"--only _ars est celare artem_, conceal the art. Gleesome in
soul to behold his visitors, calculating already on the three pounds
to be extracted from them, seeing in that hope the crisis in his own
checkered existence, Mr. Waife rose from his seat in superb _upocrisia_
or stage-play, and asked, with mild dignity,--"To what am I indebted,
gentlemen, for the honour of your visit?"

In spite of his, nose, even Vance was taken aback. Pope says that Lord
Bolingbroke had "the nobleman air." A great comedian Lord Bolingbroke
surely was. But, ah, had Pope seen Gentleman Waife! Taking advantage
of the impression he had created, the actor added, with the finest
imaginable breeding,--"But pray be seated;" and, once seeing them
seated, resumed his easy-chair, and felt himself master of the
situation.

"Hum!" said Vance, recovering his self-possession, after a pause--"hum!"

"Hem!" re-echoed Gentleman Waife; and the two men eyed each other much
in the same way as Admiral Napier might have eyed the fort of Cronstadt,
and the fort of Cronstadt have eyed Admiral Napier.

Lionel struck in with that youthful boldness which plays the deuce with
all dignified strategical science.

"You must be aware why we come, sir; Mr. Merle will have explained. My
friend, a distinguished artist, wished to make a sketch, if you do not
object, of this young lady's very"--

"Pretty little face," quoth Vance, taking up the dis course. "Mr. Rugge,
this morning, was willing,--I understand that your grandchild refused.
We are come here to see if she will be more complaisant under your own
roof, or Under Mr. Merle's, which, I take it, is the same thing for
the present."--Sophy had sidled up to Lionel. He might not have been
flattered if he knew why she preferred him to Vance. She looked on him
as a boy, a fellow-child; and an instinct, moreover, told her, that
more easily through him than his shrewd-looking bearded guest could she
attain the object of her cupidity,--"three pounds!"

"Three pounds!" whispered Sophy, with the tones of an angel, into
Lionel's thrilling ear.

MR. WAIFE.--"Sir, I will be frank with you." At that ominous
commencement, Mr. Vance recoiled, and mechanically buttoned his trousers
pocket. Mr. Waife noted the gesture with his one eye