General withdrawing of heads from street-windows, emigration of organs
and bands, and a relaxed atmosphere in the circle of Mrs. Berry's abode,
proved that Dan Cupid had veritably flown to suck the life of fresh
regions. With a pensive mind she grasped Ripton's arm to regulate his
steps, and returned to the room where her creditor awaited her. In the
interval he had stormed her undefended fortress, the cake, from which
altitude he shook a dolorous head at the guilty woman. She smoothed her
excited apron, sighing. Let no one imagine that she regretted her
complicity. She was ready to cry torrents, but there must be absolute
castigation before this criminal shall conceive the sense of regret; and
probably then she will cling to her wickedness the more--such is the born
Pagan's tenacity! Mrs. Berry sighed, and gave him back his shake of the
head. O you wanton, improvident creature! said he. O you very wise old
gentleman! said she. He asked her the thing she had been doing. She
enlightened him with the fatalist's reply. He sounded a bogey's alarm of
contingent grave results. She retreated to the entrenched camp of the
fact she had helped to make.

"It's done!" she exclaimed. How could she regret what she felt comfort
to know was done? Convinced that events alone could stamp a mark on such
stubborn flesh, he determined to wait for them, and crouched silent on
the cake, with one finger downwards at Ripton's incision there, showing a
crumbling chasm and gloomy rich recess.

The eloquent indication was understood. "Dear! dear!" cried Mrs. Berry,
"what a heap o' cake, and no one to send it to!"

Ripton had resumed his seat by the table and his embrace of the claret.
Clear ideas of satisfaction had left him and resolved to a boiling geysir
of indistinguishable transports. He bubbled, and waggled, and nodded