jollier than courting time. Such little ordinary things seem sweet
like, then."

"Hark at the old girl," chuckled Doss.

"You can't kidd me, Doss. You know it, too. I think of our own
billing and cooing, sir--his and mine. I was not a draw in those
days; the last turn in the bill at the "Middlesex" was about my mark,
and Doss, he hadn't risen, neither. We used to walk 'ome that lovin'
up Drury Lane, and Doss, he would say, 'fish, Tilda,' and I would
say, 'if you could fancy a bit, Sam.' And in he would pop for two
penny slices and chips. And eat--lor', how we did eat. When I look
back on that fish, sometimes I could cry. Money and fame ain't
everythink in the world, believe me, they ain't. You may be 'appy in
your 'umbleness."

All this was gall and wormwood to John Chetwynd, and he approached
his wife again and whispered.

"It is getting late--are these people never going?"

"Not until they have had supper, most certainly."

"And do you expect my friend to join you?"

"You can please yourselves. I don't think either of you would be much
acquisition in your present frame of mind. Mrs. Doss, somebody
interrupted you; you were talking about a kindred soul and an attic.
Money and position are not everything you were saying. I agree with
you. Give me an easy life and no stilts."