"Of course! who else could have told her?" replied Mrs. Flabby.
"Of course! no one!" observed Mr. Bouncer, as though that matter were now sufficiently self-evident.
"He never forgot the North Pole!" said Mrs. Flabby, solemnly. "I had warned my poor husband against him from the first; but he would not take my advice. It was entirely through him that he lost half his fortune in that unfortunate speculation in Train Oil and Whales' Blubber. And yet, I told him how it would be."
"I should like to hear what Victoria did about your book—'The Plaintive Periwinkle,'" said Mr. Bouncer, anxious to divert Mrs. Flabby from her reminiscences of the Great Mogul.
"She at once come down from—But, no! high treason!" whispered the poor lady. "She took lodgings over a pastry-cook's, just opposite to my window. Could you have believed it?"
"Not unless you had told me!" replied Mr. Bouncer, politely.
"Alas, it is too true!" said Mrs. Flabby. "There she sat and watched me, all the day long. My poems were seized by her spies and myrmidons. They waylaid my messengers, and robbed them of the precious packets that were intended to do so much good. And this, after all my years of labour, and after having ruined myself to get the work printed. Oh, what an effect it had upon me! I have had no such blow until now! My poor, poor cat!"
"Your cat?" asked Mr. Bouncer.
"She died yesterday; she breathed her last in these arms. Oh, that I could recall her! she was my only solace. But how could it be otherwise, when my dear
