On the arm of her Fitzroy, Rosa went off to Fubsby’s, that magnificent shop at the corner of Parliament Place and Alicompayne Square, ­a shop into which the rogue had often cast a glance of approbation as he passed:  for there are not only the most wonderful and delicious cakes and confections in the window, but at the counter there are almost sure to be three or four of the prettiest women in the whole of this world, with little darling caps of the last French make, with beautiful wavy hair, and the neatest possible waists and aprons.

Yes, there they sit; and others, perhaps, besides Fitz have cast a sheep’s-eye through those enormous plate-glass windowpanes.  I suppose it is the fact of perpetually living among such a quantity of good things that makes those young ladies so beautiful.  They come into the place, let us say, like ordinary people, and gradually grow handsomer and handsomer, until they grow out into the perfect angels you see.  It can’t be otherwise:  if you and I, my dear fellow, were to have a course of that place, we should become beautiful too.  They live in an atmosphere of the most delicious pine-apples, blanc-manges, creams, (some whipt, and some so good that of course they don’t want whipping,) jellies, tipsy-cakes, cherry-brandy ­one hundred thousand sweet and lovely things.  Look at the preserved fruits, look at the golden ginger, the outspreading ananas, the darling little rogues of China oranges, ranged in the gleaming crystal cylinders.  Mon Dieu!  Look at the strawberries in the leaves.  Each of them is as large nearly as a lady’s reticule, and looks as if it had been brought up in a nursery to itself.  One of those strawberries is a meal for those young ladies, behind the counter; they nibble off a little from the side, and if they are very hungry, which can scarcely ever happen, they are allowed to go to the crystal canisters and take out a rout-cake or macaroon.  In the evening they sit and tell each other little riddles out of the bonbons; and when they wish to amuse themselves, they read the most delightful remarks, in the French language, about Love, and Cupid, and Beauty, before they place them inside the crackers.  They always are writing down good things into Mr. Fubsby’s ledgers.  It must be a perfect feast to read them.  Talk of the Garden of Eden!  I believe it was nothing to Mr. Fubsby’s house; and I have no doubt that after those young ladies have been there a certain time, they get to such a pitch of loveliness at last, that they become complete angels, with wings sprouting out of their lovely shoulders, when (after giving just a preparatory balance or two) they fly up to the counter and perch there for a minute, hop down again, and affectionately kiss the other young ladies, and say, “Good-by, dears!  We shall meet again la haut.”  And then with a whir of their deliciously scented wings, away they fly for good, whisking over the trees of Brobdingnag Square, and up into the sky, as the policeman touches his hat.

It is up there that they invent the legends for the crackers, and the wonderful riddles and remarks on the bonbons.  No mortal, I am sure, could write them.

I never saw a man in such a state as Fitzroy Timmins in the presence of those ravishing houris.  Mrs. Fitz having explained that they required a dinner for twenty persons, the chief young lady asked what Mr. and Mrs. Fitz would like, and named a thousand things, each better than the other, to all of which Fitz instantly said yes.  The wretch was in such a state of infatuation that I believe if that lady had proposed to him a fricasseed elephant, or a boa-constrictor in jelly, he would have said, “O yes, certainly; put it down.”

That Peri wrote down in her album a list of things which it would make your mouth water to listen to.  But she took it all quite calmly.  Heaven bless you!  They don’t care about things that are no delicacies to them!  But whatever she chose to write down, Fitzroy let her.

After the dinner and dessert were ordered (at Fubsby’s they furnish everything:  dinner and dessert, plate and china, servants in your own livery, and, if you please, guests of title too), the married couple retreated from that shop of wonders; Rosa delighted that the trouble of the dinner was all off their hands but she was afraid it would be rather expensive.

“Nothing can be too expensive which pleases you, dear,” Fitz said.

“By the way, one of those young women was rather good-looking,” Rosa remarked:  “the one in the cap with the blue ribbons.” (And she cast about the shape of the cap in her mind, and determined to have exactly such another.)

“Think so?  I didn’t observe,” said the miserable hypocrite by her side; and when he had seen Rosa home, he went back, like an infamous fiend, to order something else which he had forgotten, he said, at Fubsby’s.  Get out of that Paradise, you cowardly, creeping, vile serpent you!

Until the day of the dinner, the infatuated fop was always going to Fubsby’s.  He was remarked there.  He used to go before he went to chambers in the morning, and sometimes on his return from the Temple:  but the morning was the time which he preferred; and one day, when he went on one of his eternal pretexts, and was chattering and flirting at the counter, a lady who had been reading yesterday’s paper and eating a halfpenny bun for an hour in the back shop (if that paradise may be called a shop) ­a lady stepped forward, laid down the Morning Herald, and confronted him.

That lady was Mrs. Gashleigh.  From that day the miserable Fitzroy was in her power; and she resumed a sway over his house, to shake off which had been the object of his life, and the result of many battles.  And for a mere freak ­(for, on going into Fubsby’s a week afterwards he found the Peris drinking tea out of blue cups, and eating stale bread and butter, when his absurd passion instantly vanished) ­I say, for a mere freak, the most intolerable burden of his life was put on his shoulders again ­his mother-in-law.

On the day before the little dinner took place ­and I promise you we shall come to it in the very next chapter ­a tall and elegant middle-aged gentleman, who might have passed for an earl but that there was a slight incompleteness about his hands and feet, the former being uncommonly red, and the latter large and irregular, was introduced to Mrs. Timmins by the page, who announced him as Mr. Truncheon.

“I’m Truncheon, Ma’am,” he said, with a low bow.

“Indeed!” said Rosa.

“About the dinner M’m, from Fubsby’s, M’m.  As you have no butler, M’m, I presume you will wish me to act as sich.  I shall bring two persons as haids to-morrow; both answers to the name of John.  I’d best, if you please, inspect the premisis, and will think you to allow your young man to show me the pantry and kitching.”

Truncheon spoke in a low voice, and with the deepest and most respectful melancholy.  There is not much expression in his eyes, but from what there is, you would fancy that he was oppressed by a secret sorrow.  Rosa trembled as she surveyed this gentleman’s size, his splendid appearance, and gravity.  “I am sure,” she said, “I never shall dare to ask him to hand a glass of water.”  Even Mrs. Gashleigh, when she came on the morning of the actual dinner-party, to superintend matters, was cowed, and retreated from the kitchen before the calm majesty of Truncheon.

And yet that great man was, like all the truly great ­affable.

He put aside his coat and waistcoat (both of evening cut, and looking prematurely splendid as he walked the streets in noonday), and did not disdain to rub the glasses and polish the decanters, and to show young Buttons the proper mode of preparing these articles for a dinner.  And while he operated, the maids, and Buttons, and cook, when she could ­and what had she but the vegetables to boil? ­crowded round him, and listened with wonder as he talked of the great families as he had lived with.  That man, as they saw him there before them, had been cab-boy to Lord Tantallan, valet to the Earl of Bareacres, and groom of the chambers to the Duchess Dowager of Fitzbattleaxe.  Oh, it was delightful to hear Mr. Truncheon!