Very curious and interesting was the behaviour of these people among themselves.  It was an eternal game of chivy or hide-and-seek, each person being by turn the hunter and the hunted.  Mrs. Downey tried to talk to the birds of passage; but the birds of passage would talk to nobody but each other.  Miss Bramble took not the slightest notice of Mr. Partridge.  Mr. Partridge did everything he could to make himself agreeable to Miss Bramble; but she was always looking away over the aspidistras, towards the young end of the table, with a little air of strained attention, at once alien and alert.  Mr. Spinks spent himself in perpetual endeavours to stimulate a sense of humour in Miss Walker, who hadn’t quite enough of it, with very violent effects on Miss Bishop, who had it in excess; while Mr. Soper was incessantly trying to catch the eye of Miss Roots around the aspidistras, an enterprise in which he was but rarely successful; Miss Walker finally making no attempt to bridge over the space between her chair and Miss Roots.

That empty seat was reserved for Mr. Rickman, who was generally late.  On his arrival the blinds would be pulled down in deference to his wish for a more perfect privacy.  Meanwhile they remained up, so that wandering persons in hansoms, lonely persons having furnished apartments, persons living expensively in hotels or miserably in other boarding-houses, might look in, and long to be received into Mrs. Downey’s, to enjoy the luxury, the comfort, the society.

The society—­Yes; as Mrs. Downey surveyed her table and its guests, her imagination ignored the base commercial tie; she felt herself to be a social power, having called into existence an assembly so various, so brilliant, and so gay.  One thing only interfered with Mrs. Downey’s happiness, Mr. Rickman’s habit of being late.  Such a habit would not have mattered so much in any of the other boarders, because, remarkable as they were collectively, individually, Mrs. Downey seldom thought of them unless they happened to be there, whereas with Mr. Rickman, now, whether he was there or not, she could think of nothing else.

And to-night Mr. Rickman was later than ever.

“I’m really beginning to be afraid,” said Mrs. Downey, “that he can’t be coming.”

The middle-aged gentleman, Mr. Soper, was heard muttering something to the effect that he thought they could bear up if he didn’t come.  Whereupon Mrs. Downey begged Mr. Soper’s pardon in a manner which was a challenge to him to repeat his last remark.  Therefore he repeated it.

“I say, I ’ope we can manage to bear up.”

“Speak for yourself, Mr. Soper.” (This from Mr. Spinks who adored Rickman.)

“Well, really, I can’t think how it is you and he don’t seem to hit it off together.  A young fellow that can make himself so pleasant when he likes.”

“Ah-h!  When he likes.  And when he doesn’t like?  When he comes into the room like a young lord with his head in the air, and plumps himself down straight in front of you, and looks at you as if you were a sorter ea’wig or a centerpede?  Call that pleasant?”