have tired out my companions, they left me to the uninterrupted enjoyment
of my own pleasant imaginings.

"Do you hear, Lorrequer," at last said Trevanion; "are you asleep, my
dear friend? This gentleman has been good enough to invite us to
breakfast to-morrow at St. Cloud."

I looked up, and was just able to recognise the well-trimmed moustache of
Mr. Edward Bingham, as he stood mumbling something before me. "St. Cloud
--what of St. Cloud?" said I.

"We have something in that quarter to-morrow."

"What is it, O'Leary? Can we go?"

"Oh! certainly--our engagement's an early one."

"We shall accept your polite invitation with pleasure"--

Here he stooped over, and whispered something in my ear; what, I cannot
say, but I know that my reply, now equally lost to me, produced a hearty
fit of laughing to my two friends.

My next recollection is, finding myself in a crowded loge at the theatre.
It seems that O'Leary had acceded to a proposal from some of the other
party to accompany them to the Porte St. Martin, where Mrs. Bingham and
her daughter had engaged a box. Amid all the confusion which troubled
thoughts and wine produced in me, I could not help perceiving a studied
politeness and attention on the part of Mr. Edward Bingham towards me;
and my first sobering reflection came, on finding that a place was