of him--placed, not amid the frigid splendours of the drawing room,
but occupying the place of honour in his own particular den, where
everything is old-fashioned, cheery, and sanctified by long usage.
No one wrote so pleasantly about the pleasures of a comfortable room
as Cowper. And was he not right to do so? After all, every hearth is
the altar of the family, whereon the sacred fire should be kept
constantly burning, waxing and waning with the seasons, but never be
permitted to die out altogether. Miss Sprotts, as before mentioned,
was much in favour of a constant fire, because of the alleged
dampness of the house, and Madame Midas did not by any means object,
as she was a perfect salamander for heat. Hence, when the outward
door was closed, the faded red curtains of the window drawn, and the
newly replenished fire blazed brightly in the wide fireplace, the
room was one which even Cowper--sybarite in home comforts as he was-
-would have contemplated with delight.

Madame Midas was seated now at the small table in the centre of the
room, poring over a bewildering array of figures, and the soft glow
of the lamp touched her smooth hair and white dress with a subdued
light.

Archie sat by the fire, half asleep, and there was a dead silence in
the room, only broken by the rapid scratching of Madame's pen or the
click of Selina's needles. At last Mrs Villiers, with a sigh of
relief, laid down her pen, put all her papers together, and tied
them neatly with a bit of string.

'I'm afraid I'll have to get a clerk, Archie,' she said, as she put
the papers away, 'the office work is getting too much for me.'