—how fallen so low?—for fall it was! that was clear. The painter, though not himself of patrician extraction, had been much in the best society. He had been a petted favorite in great houses. He had travelled. He had seen the world. He had the habits and the instincts of good society.
Now, in what the French term the beau monde, there are little traits that reveal those who have entered it—certain tricks of phrase, certain modes of expression—even the pronunciation of familiar words, even the modulation of an accent. A man of the most refined bearing may not have these peculiarities; a man, otherwise coarse and brusque in his manner, may. The slang of the beau monde is quite apart from the code of high-breeding. Now and then, something in Waife's talk seemed to show that he had lighted on that beau-world; now and then, that something wholly vanished. So that Vance might have said, "He has been admitted there, not inhabited it."
Yet Vance could not feel sure, after all; comedians are such takes-in. But was the man, by the profession of his earlier life, a comedian? Vance asked the question adroitly.
"You must have taken to the stage young?" said he.
"The stage!" said Waife. "If you mean the public stage—no. I have acted pretty often in youth, even in childhood, to amuse others; never professionally to support myself, till Mr. Ragge civilly engaged me four years ago."
"Is it possible—with your' excellent "education! But pardon me; I have hinted my surprise at your late vocation before, and it displeased you."
"Displeased me!" said Waife, with an abject, depressed manner; "I hope I said nothing that would have misbecome a poor broken vagabond like me. I am no prince in disguise—a good-for-nothing varlet, who should be too grateful to have something to keep himself from a dung-hill."
Lionel. "Don't talk so. And but for your accident you might now be the great attraction on the metropolitan stage. Who does not respect a really fine actor?"
Waife (gloomily). "The Metropolitan Stage! I was talked into it; I am glad even of the accident that saved me—say no more of that, no more of that. But I have spoiled your sitting: Sophy, you see, has left her chair."
"I have done for to-day," said Vance; "to-morrow, and my task is ended."
Lionel came up to Vance and whispered to him; the painter, after a pause, nodded silently, and then said to Waife—
"We are going to enjoy the fine weather on the Thames (af-
