But Jane soon comes round again, and then surely there never was
anything like the breakfast table, glittering with plate and china,
and set out with flowers and sweets, and long-necked bottles, in
the most sumptuous and dazzling manner. In the centre, too, is the
mighty charm, the cake, glistening with frosted sugar, and
garnished beautifully. They agree that there ought to be a little
Cupid under one of the barley-sugar temples, or at least two hearts
and an arrow; but, with this exception, there is nothing to wish
for, and a table could not be handsomer. As they arrive at this
conclusion, who should come in but Mr. John! to whom Jane says that
its only Anne from number six; and John says HE knows, for he's
often winked his eye down the area, which causes Anne to blush and
look confused. She is going away, indeed; when Mr. John will have
it that she must drink a glass of wine, and he says never mind it's
being early in the morning, it won't hurt her: so they shut the
door and pour out the wine; and Anne drinking lane's health, and
adding, 'and here's wishing you yours, Mr. John,' drinks it in a
great many sips,--Mr. John all the time making jokes appropriate to
the occasion. At last Mr. John, who has waxed bolder by degrees,
pleads the usage at weddings, and claims the privilege of a kiss,
which he obtains after a great scuffle; and footsteps being now
heard on the stairs, they disperse suddenly.
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