Mrs.Score, who had seen with much satisfaction that her niece was really ill, and her fever more violent, and hoped to have her for many days an inmate in her house, now came forward, and casting upon the Liverpool tailor a look of profound but respectful melancholy, said, "My Lord (for I recollect your Lordship quite well), the lady upstairs is so ill, that it would be a sin to move her: had I not better tell coachman to take down your Lordship's trunks, and the lady's, and make you a bed in the next room ?" Very much to her surprise, this proposition was received with a roar of laughter.

"Madam," said the person addressed, "I'm not a lord, but a tailor and draper; and as for that young woman, before to-day I never set eyes on her." "WHAT!" screamed out Mrs.Score.

"Are not you the Count?
Do you mean to say that you a'n't Cat's--?
DO you mean to say that you didn't order her bed, and that you won't pay this here little bill ?" And with this she produced a document, by which the Count's lady was made her debtor in a sum of half-a-guinea.
These passionate words excited more and more laughter.

"Pay it, my Lord," said the coachman; "and then come along, for time presses." "Our respects to her Ladyship," said one passenger.

"Tell her my Lord can't wait," said another; and with much merriment one and all quitted the hotel, entered the coach, and rattled off.
Dumb--pale with terror and rage--bill in hand, Mrs.Score had followed the company; but when the coach disappeared, her senses returned.