and Mrs. Barnes. He had the promise of a fair moustache, but his
complexion generally was colourless. His features, except for a
certain regularity, were undistinguished. His speech was modest
and correct. His manner varied with his company. To-night it had
been pronounced, by excellent judges - genteel.

The conversation consisted - naturally enough, under the
circumstances - of a course of subtle and judicious pumping,
tactfully prompted, for the most part, by Mrs. Barnes. Such, for
instance, as the following:

"Talking about Marie Corelli's new book reminds me, Mr. Fitzgerald
- your occupation is connected with books, is it not?" his
prospective mother-in-law enquired, artlessly.

Mr. Fitzgerald bowed assent.

"I am cashier at Howell & Wilson's in Cheapside," he said. "We
sell a great many books there - as many, I should think, as any
retail establishment in London."

"Indeed!" Mrs. Barnes purred. "Very interesting work, I am sure.
So nice and intellectual, too; for, of course, you must be looking
inside them sometimes."

"I know the place well," Mr. Adolphus Barnes, Junior, announced
condescendingly, - "pass it every day on my way to lunch."

"So much nicer," Mrs. Barnes continued, "than any of the ordinary
businesses - grocery or drapery, or anything of that sort."