Mr. Tankard's establishment was larger and handsomer than Walter expected to find it. In the windows there was a very good display of china and glass, and the shop was tolerably spacious.

Mrs. Tankard, to whom he at once was presented, and who received him very kindly, was still goodlooking, though somewhat on the wane; but she was sharp and intelligent, and evidently very well able to attend to the business in her husband's absence.

The Tankards had an only son—an only child, we ought to say. Tom Tankard was a much smarter man than his father, and much more self-important. Like his father, he had a sobriquet, and was called “Cool Tankard.” Tom ought to have attended strictly to the shop; but being allowed to do pretty much as he liked, as a natural consequence he did little or nothing.

Tom was not handsome. On the contrary, he was decidedly an ugly dog. Short, fat, snub-nosed, round-faced, he had deep-seated, grey eyes, and these had a cunning, though rather comic, expression. His pink cheeks were totally destitute of whisker, and his whity-brown hair was cut extremely short.

A brown Newmarket coat was buttoned over his broad chest, but his shoulders were out of proportion with his spindling legs, which were cased in very tight trousers.

Nevertheless, Tom was a smart fellow in his way, though rather loud in his style, and exceedingly particular about the flaming colour of his tie and the size of his gold pin.

Now and then he used to drive in the Park when he could afford to hire a drag, and took some smart young ladies with him. More than once he had ridden at the Croydon Steeple-chases, and he occasionally contrived to attend a meet of the Surrey hounds.

Tom chanced to be in the shop when Walter came in with his father, and, being struck by his appearance, condescended to pay him some attention.

Mr. Tankard lost no time in informing his wife that Mr. Liddel would occupy a bed in the house for a night or two; and then went on to explain that he had invited a few friends for the evening, and had directed Pledger Dapp to send in a little supper—thinking it would save trouble.

Mrs. Tankard received the intelligence with great good nature, and Tom was told to take Mr. Liddel up-stairs and show him the spare room, which proved to be a very neat little chamber.

They were still talking together, when Mr. Tankard came up with a large brown-paper parcel, and, deeming it advisable to mystify his son, winked at Walter, to let him into his plan, and then said to the hopeful youth:

“Do you know, Tom, Mr. Liddel is going to a fancy dress ball?”

“How jolly!” exclaimed Tom. “What costume?”

“As a footman,” replied old Tankard. “Here's his dress.”

“As a footman!” exclaimed Tom, with a droll expression. “Jeames of Buckley Square—or Chawles. Well, he's just the figure for one of those gentry. Is he going to the ball to-night?”

“No; but I've persuaded him to appear in private at my little party this evening, that we may see how he looks.”

“Oh! he can't fail to look well,” said Tom, somewhat sarcastically. “But let's see the dress, guv'nor. Beg pardon, Mr. Liddel! I ought to have asked your permission.”

“Oh, don't stand on any ceremony with me, I beg!” cried Walter.

The parcel was then opened, and a very handsome suit of livery produced. There was likewise another rather smaller parcel inside.

“Here's a gorgeous coat! here's a brilliant pair of plooshes!” exclaimed Tom, holding up the latter. “You'll look uncommon well in these, Mr. Liddel.”

“No doubt he will,” said Mr. Tankard. “But no more of your chaff, sir.”

The smaller parcel was then opened, and was found to contain a pair of thin shoes, buckles, silk stockings, shirt, and white cravat.

“I was going to put you in mind, Mr. Liddel,” observed Tankard, “that you'd want several articles to rig you out completely—but here they all are. I dare say the shoes will fit you.”

“I'm certain of it,” replied Walter, examining them.

“Another thing mustn't be forgotten, Mr. Liddel,” said Tom. “Since you're going to appear as Jeames, or Chawles, you'll want your 'air powderin'. I'll get you a coiffeur. When will you have him?”

“Not till evening,” replied Walter.

“Very good,” said Tom. “He shall be here at eight.”

“Now, go down to the shop, Tom,” cried Mr. Tankard. “Send off a note at once to Harry Netterville, and ask him to supper. Consult your mother, and if she approves, ask Mrs. Tripp and Clotilde, Mrs. Sicklemore and Flora, or anybody else agreeable to her, but don't exceed half a dozen, for we have got five or six already.

“Counting Harry Netterville?”

“No; not counting him.”

“You've seen Rose Hartley, of course, Mr. Liddel?” cried Tom. “Sweet girl, ain't she? Harry Netterville is rather smitten in that quarter.'

“Then give him the chance of meeting her,” said his father.

Thereupon Tom disappeared.

After an early dinner with the Tankards, Walter betook himself to Spencer's Rents, and saw Rose, who was alone in the little parlour. Evidently she regarded him with more interest than she had done.

“My mother has told me all about you, Mr. Liddel,” she said, “at least, all she knows, and I feel exceedingly sorry for you. But I hope all will soon be right. I am neither old enough nor wise enough to give you advice, nor is it right or proper for me to do so, but I am sorry you are thinking of becoming a footman. I feel quite sure you are a gentleman—”

“I have been one,” interrupted Walter. “But I have no money, and must do something. The offer was made me, and I accepted it. Any honest employment is respectable.”

“So it is, undoubtedly. What I fear is that you may hereafter regret having taken the step.”

“I can leave if I don't like the employment. But I must say you talk very sensibly, Miss Rose. I wish I had had such a counsellor a year or two ago, before I committed my worst follies.”

“You wouldn't have listened to me,” she replied, shaking her head.

“I don't know—I might have done. But your remarks seem to produce some salutary effect upon me, and that is more than I could say of myself formerly.”

“Then you are improved by misfortune.”

“In some respects, I think I am. But there is considerable room for further improvement.”

“Mr. Liddel, I am convinced you have a great deal of good in you. Only do yourself justice.”

“I will try,” he replied. “But how is it, I must again ask, that you, who are so young, are able to give such sensible advice?”

“I have a good mother,” she replied.

At this very moment Mrs. Hartley came into the room.

“I hope you heard what was said of you, ma'am?” observed Walter. “Your daughter has just been telling me how much she owes you.”

“I owe quite as much to her,” cried the good dame, affectionately. “She is the joy of the house, and I don't know what I shall do when I lose her. But I suppose I must make up my mind to it one of these days.”

“Not yet, dearest mother,” said Rose.

“I suppose we shall meet the fortunate individual this evening?” observed Walter. “Mr. Harry Netterville, eh?”

“Yes, that's the name; and a very nice young fellow he is,” replied Mrs. Hartley. “I only wish he was a little richer.”

“Well, we must wait contentedly till he becomes so,” sighed Rose. “Poverty and happiness don't go together in married life.”

“Again I must compliment you on your good sense, Miss Rose,” remarked Walter.

“That's one of my mother's maxims,” she rejoined. “But don't call me Miss Rose, please. After the service you rendered me this morning, I shall always regard you as a friend, and so will Harry!”

“I think I told you that Romney, the insolent fellow by whom you were affronted, was one of those who mainly contributed to my ruin?” remarked Walter. “He is a great libertine, and I hope you may experience no more annoyance from him. I may not always be at hand to protect you.”

“Luckily, he doesn't know where I live, or I might feel some uneasiness,” said Rose.

“Ah, those rakes are dreadful—no keeping them off!” cried Mrs. Hartley.

At this moment there was a knock at the outer door.

Rather startled, Mrs. Hartley went to see who it was; and presently returned with a letter in her hand.

“This is for you, Rose!” she cried. “It was left by a stranger, who said no answer was required, and went away immediately.”

“For me!” exclaimed Rose, turning pale. “It is certainly addressed to me, but I don't know the handwriting.”

She then opened the letter, and, after angrily scanning it, read it aloud.

“The gentleman who had the great pleasure of meeting Miss Rose Hartley on the steam-boat this morning, hopes soon to behold her again, as her charms have made an ineffaceable impression upon him. He feels certain that the incident that occurred on the pier must have been as vexatious to her as to him; but she may rest assured that the ruffian who committed the assault shall not pass unpunished.”

“So, then, he has discovered your address!” cried Walter. “I wonder how he learnt it, since he ran off.”

“I could not have credited such audacity, without proof positive!” exclaimed Rose, indignantly. “Does Mr. Romney imagine I will ever exchange another word with him, except to express my anger and scorn? Have I given him any encouragement, that he should dare to write me such a letter?” she added, tears of vexation starting to her eyes.

“No, no! I am sure not,” cried Walter. “But it is part of Romney's system; he believes no woman can resist him. I now begin to think he will persist in the attempt, notwithstanding the chastisement he has received, and the utter want of encouragement on your part.”

“Dear me! I declare I'm all of a tremble!” cried Mrs. Hartley. “I don't know what we shall do to get rid of him.”

“Never mind him,” cried Rose. “I'm not at all afraid.”

“Leave me to deal with him,” said Walter. “Tomorrow I'll look after him.”

“It is Harry Netterville's business to defend me,” cried Rose.

“But I understand the man,” rejoined Walter. “Besides, I have still an account to settle with him. Leave him to me.”

“Yes; Mr. Liddel will manage him best,” said Mrs Hartley. “But I'll go and bring in tea; a cup will do us all good after this bother.”

As the good dame had foreseen, the pleasant beverage soon produced a tranquillising effect, and enabled them to spend an hour or two in cheerful converse.

Walter then thought it time to go back to Mr. Tankard's, but offered to stay and take charge of them if they felt at all afraid. Mrs. Hartley said she expected her husband every minute, and he would bring them to the party.

“In that case, you can dispense with me,” said Walter. “We shall meet again before long, and then you'll find me completely transmogrified.”

“I am sorry to hear it,” said Rose; “I like you very well as you are.”

Walter laughed, and set out, taking with him his parcel of purchases.