“I’ll have a four-post to-morrow,” growled Collumpsion; “French beds are mean-looking things, after all.  Stuffwell has the fellow-chair to this—­one chair does look strange!  I wonder it has never struck me before; but it is surprising—­what—­strange ide—­as a man—­has”—­and Collumpsion fell asleep.

It was broad day when Collumpsion awoke; the fire had gone out, and his feet were as cold as ice.  He (as he is married there’s no necessity for concealment)—­he swore two or three naughty oaths, and taking off his clothes, hurried into bed in the hope of getting warm.

“How confoundedly cold I am—­sitting in that chair all night, too—­ridiculous.  If I had had a—­I mean, if I hadn’t been alone, that wouldn’t have happened; she would have waked me.” She—­what the deuce made him use the feminine pronoun!

At two o’clock he rose and entered his breakfast-room.  The table was laid as usual—­one large cup and saucer, one plate, one egg-cup, one knife, and one fork!  He did not know wherefore, but he felt to want the number increased.  John brought up a slice of broiled salmon and one egg.  Collumpsion got into a passion, and ordered a second edition.  The morning was rainy, so Collumpsion remained at home, and employed himself by kicking about the ottoman, and mentally multiplying all the single articles in his establishment by two.

The dinner hour arrived, and there was the same singular provision for one.  He rang the bell, and ordered John to furnish the table for another.  John obeyed, though not without some strong misgiving of his master’s sanity, as the edibles consisted of a sole, a mutton chop, and a partridge.  When John left the room at his master’s request, Collumpsion rose and locked the door.  Having placed a chair opposite, he resumed his seat, and commenced a series of pantomimic gestures, which were strongly confirmatory of John’s suspicions.  He seemed to be holding an inaudible conversation with some invisible being, placing the choicest portion of the sole in a plate, and seemingly desiring John to deliver it to the unknown.  As John was not there, he placed it before himself, and commenced daintily and smilingly picking up very minute particles, as though he were too much delighted to eat.  He then bowed and smiled, and extending his arm, appeared to fill the opposite glass, and having actually performed the same operation with his own, he bowed and smiled again, and sipped the brilliant Xeres.  He then rang the bell violently, and unlocking the door, rushed rapidly back to his chair, as though he were fearful of committing a rudeness by leaving it.  The table being replenished, and John again dismissed the room, the same pantomime commenced.  The one mutton chop seemed at first to present an obstacle to the proper conduct of the scene; but gracefully uncovering the partridge, and as gracefully smiling towards the invisible, he appeared