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At half past six he might have been heard shouting out for his varnished boots but we know where THOSE had been hidden–and for his dressing things; but Mrs. Gashleigh had put them away.

As in his vain inquiries for these articles he stood shouting, “Nurse! Buttons! Rosa my dear!” and the most fearful execrations up and down the stairs, Mr. Truncheon came out on him.

“Egscuse me, sir,” says he, “but it’s impawsable. We can’t dine twenty at that table–not if you set ’em out awinder, we can’t.”

“What’s to be done?” asked Fitzroy, in an agony; “they’ve all said they’d come.”

“Can’t do it,” said the other; “with two top and bottom–and your table is as narrow as a bench–we can’t hold more than heighteen, and then each person’s helbows will be into his neighbor’s cheer.”

“Rosa! Mrs. Gashleigh!” cried out Timmins, “come down and speak to this gentl–this–“

“Truncheon, sir,” said the man.

The women descended from the drawing-room. “Look and see, ladies,” he said, inducting them into the dining-room: “there’s the room, there’s the table laid for heighteen, and I defy you to squeege in more.”

“One person in a party always fails,” said Mrs. Gashleigh, getting alarmed.

“That’s nineteen,” Mr. Truncheon remarked. “We must knock another hoff, Ma’m.” And he looked her hard in the face.

Mrs. Gashleigh was very red and nervous, and paced, or rather squeezed round the table (it was as much as she could do). The chairs could not be put any closer than they were. It was impossible, unless the convive sat as a centre-piece in the middle, to put another guest at that table.

“Look at that lady movin’ round, sir. You see now the difficklty. If my men wasn’t thinner, they couldn’t hoperate at all,” Mr. Truncheon observed, who seemed to have a spite to Mrs. Gashleigh.

“What is to be done?” she said, with purple accents.

“My dearest mamma,” Rosa cried out, “you must stop at home–how sorry I am!” And she shot one glance at Fitzroy, who shot another at the great Truncheon, who held down his eyes. “We could manage with heighteen,” he said, mildly.

Mrs. Gashleigh gave a hideous laugh.

*****

She went away. At eight o’clock she was pacing at the corner of the street, and actually saw the company arrive. First came the Topham Sawyers, in their light-blue carriage with the white hammercloth and blue and white ribbons–their footmen drove the house down with the knocking.

Then followed the ponderous and snuff-colored vehicle, with faded gilt wheels and brass earl’s coronets all over it, the conveyance of the House of Bungay. The Countess of Bungay and daughter stepped out of the carriage. The fourteenth Earl of Bungay couldn’t come.

Sir Thomas and Lady Gulpin’s fly made its appearance, from which issued the General with his star, and Lady Gulpin in yellow satin. The Rowdys’ brougham followed next; after which Mrs. Butt’s handsome equipage drove up.

The two friends of the house, young gentlemen from the Temple, now arrived in cab No. 9996. We tossed up, in fact, which should pay the fare.

Mr. Ranville Ranville walked, and was dusting his boots as the Templars drove up. Lord Castlemouldy came out of a twopenny omnibus. Funnyman, the wag, came last, whirling up rapidly in a hansom, just as Mrs. Gashleigh, with rage in her heart, was counting that two people had failed, and that there were only seventeen after all.

Mr. Truncheon passed our names to Mr. Billiter, who bawled them out on the stairs. Rosa was smiling in a pink dress, and looking as fresh as an angel, and received her company with that grace which has always characterized her.

The moment of the dinner arrived, old Lady Bungay scuffled off on the arm of Fitzroy, while the rear was brought up by Rosa and Lord Castlemouldy, of Ballyshanvanvoght Castle, co, Tipperary. Some fellows who had the luck took down ladies to dinner. I was not sorry to be out of the way of Mrs. Rowdy, with her dandified airs, or of that high and mighty county princess, Mrs. Topham Sawyer.