This evening the Veneerings give a banquet. Eleven leaves in the Twemlow; fourteen in company all told. Four pigeon-breasted retainers in plain clothes stand in line in the hall. A fifth retainer, proceeding up the staircase with a mournful air⁠—as who should say, “Here is another wretched creature come to dinner; such is life!”⁠—announces, “Mis‑ter Twemlow!”