“I am,” said the mignonne, as if to excuse her conduct.

“You always appear to be,” the fat one sniffed and snapped.

“Won’t you warm two, Mrs. Mortimer?” said the naughty little woman.

Disdain prevented any further notice of her.  Those familiar with the ladies enjoyed their sparring, which was frequent.  The mignonne was heard to whisper:  “That poor fellow will certainly be stewed.”

Very prettily the ladies took and gave warmth, for the air on the water was chill and misty.  Adrian had beside him the demure one who had stopped the circulation of his anecdote.  She in nowise objected to the fair exchange, but said “Hush!” betweenwhiles.

Past Kew and Hammersmith, on the cool smooth water; across Putney reach; through Battersea bridge; and the City grew around them, and the shadows of great mill-factories slept athwart the moonlight.

All the ladies prattled sweetly of a charming day when they alighted on land.  Several cavaliers crushed for the honour of conducting Mrs. Mount to her home.

“My brougham’s here; I shall go alone,” said Mrs. Mount.  “Some one arrange my shawl.”

She turned her back to Richard, who had a view of a delicate neck as he manipulated with the bearing of a mailed knight.

“Which way are you going?” she asked carelessly, and, to his reply as to the direction, said:  “Then I can give you a lift,” and she took his arm with a matter-of-course air, and walked up the stairs with him.

Ripton saw what had happened.  He was going to follow:  the portly dame retained him, and desired him to get her a cab.

“Oh, you happy fellow!” said the bright-eyed mignonne, passing by.

Ripton procured the cab, and stuffed it full without having to get into it himself.

“Try and let him come in too?” said the persecuting creature, again passing.

“Take liberties with pour men—­you shan’t with me,” retorted the angry bosom, and drove off.

“So she’s been and gone and run away and left him after all his trouble!” cried the pert little thing, peering into Ripton’s eyes.  “Now you’ll never be so foolish as to pin your faith to fat women again.  There! he shall be made happy another time.”  She gave his nose a comical tap, and tripped away with her possessor.

Ripton rather forgot his friend for some minutes:  Random thoughts laid hold of him.  Cabs and carriages rattled past.  He was sure he had been among members of the nobility that day, though when they went by him now they only recognized him with an effort of the eyelids.  He began to think of the day with exultation, as an event.  Recollections of the mignonne were captivating.  “Blue eyes—­just what I like!  And such a little impudent nose, and red lips, pouting—­the very thing I like!  And her hair? darkish, I think—­say brown.  And so saucy, and light on her feet.  And kind she is, or she wouldn’t have talked to me like that.”  Thus, with a groaning soul, he pictured her.  His reason voluntarily consigned her to the aristocracy as a natural appanage:  but he did amorously wish that Fortune had made a lord of him.