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"And all these gayly-costumed people—are they not persons of consideration?"

"Some of them are," answered Macfarren, "but most of them are merchants and traders."

Just then the waiter brought a tiny silver-plated tureen of soup and set it down before them. At that moment Macfarren caught sight of Mrs. Van Tromp at the next table but one, who smiled coquettishly at him and held up a glass of red wine in expressive pantomime. But, while he was watching her, he saw a sudden change come over her face—a look of paralyzed astonishment: she sat, her hand holding the wineglass suspended in the air, a silhouette, motionless against the background, and rigid with amazement. Macfarren turned to his companion, and saw at once. Marian had raised the tureen to her dainty mouth, and was drinking the turtle-soup without the formality of a soup-plate or a tablespoon.

Macfarren was of a nature too loyal to see anything to excite mirth in this unexpected breach of custom in the woman he had loved for fifteen years: he only felt a blind and furious anger against those who might make her a subject of ridicule. Marian, however, had no suspicion of what was passing in his mind, but, after draining the tureen, set it down with a sigh of satisfaction, saying, "By my faith, that was a royal dish of broth."