was quick enough to see this feeling, and was
amused; Brett was only a child.

"I am so glad, Brett," said Fermor, putting
his arm in the boy's. "Come back in here, I
want to talk to you."

The other stood irresolute.

"I have to go—- " he said at length. " The
fact is, Fermor—-"

Fermor was, luckily, in a good humour that
evening. "The fact is," he said, "you are
crusty to-night, and not so glad to see an old
friend as you ought to be. Come. I am going
your way, whatever way it is. There."

Young Brett was no match for handling of this
sort. "Now," said Fermor, after they had
walked a few moments, "what is the matter?
What have I done to you? Have I not always
tried to be kind to you—done everything I could
in my small way?"

"Oh yes, yes," said Young Brett, a little
ashamed; " but—but—O Fermor, how could you
do that—it was dreadful. Such misery, such
ruin! If indeed it had been to me, how glad
I should have been. But that poor sweet
innocent girl. It killed her, Fermor, it did
indeed, as much as if you had poisoned her or
stabbed her."

Fermor was silent a moment. Something
like shame was in his cheeks. Yet there was
something in this honest young creature he
could not be angry with. " Brett," he said, in a
low voice, " you have been hearing these stories.
I was very sorry. I could not help it. How was
I to know? Even her sister, who is the best
judge, whom I saw in Paris the other day, she
docs not believe that idle history."

"Pauline!" said Young Brett, starting; " you
met her?"

"To be sure," said Fermor, confidently. "Ask
her about it if you like—we had coffee together
on the Boulevards. Is she at Eastport still?"

Young Brett—relieved infinitely, and even
delighted, to find that his friend was in some sort
a true man (for so he now found him, from his
faith in anything Miss Manuel did)—became
eagerly communicative and told all that he knew,
and left Fermor with Miss Manuel's address in
Alfred-place, and many other particulars.

Fermor came home pleased with himself, and
very gay. The nuptial stage moon was still
shining, and the new husband and new wife
wore their theatrical dresses and properties for
each other's sake. But on this day young Mrs.
Fermor had come home sadly troubled and
distressed. She had two griefs: a deep and intricate
deception practised on herself, and the image
of a poor soft girl, who had withered away unto
death.

She had a little corner or closet of romance
into which she retired, and found pleasure in
painting up a dreadful picture of desertion, and
miserable blight. Not but that this brought
with it a sense of conquest for herself; but
there was also present a dread sense of disquiet.
For already had the glorious sun in whose light
she basked sent forth some cold chilling rays,
which made her shrink away in a sort of alarm.

By another week—being left a good deal alone—
with a vague curiosity to know more of the
bright Miss Manuel, and that curious story in
which her husband had played such a part, Fermor
came to her about noon, and asked would
she go for him into the City, and do some small
commission? He had West-end business of his
own to attend to. For, though he had now no
known profession, there was a sort of fiction
accepted in the house of his going out each day
for business, and of his coming home to dinner
after business was done. Would she oblige him
in this? said Captain Fermor, ceremoniously, for
the stage moon was still shining, and the pantomime
running. She was delighted. It fitted in
very nicely, and she set out that afternoon with
her maid, in a cab.

She had some little commission in some City
shop, which was not readily found, and a sort
of rude Siberian cabman (with a gaunt angular
horse, whose legs swung like a pendulum in a
slow trot) had made a low grumbling protest
at each fresh direction. When, finally, he was
bidden from the heart of the City to make
straight for Alfred-place, at Brompton, he began
to dwell with savage irony on the advantages of
having " a 'os of hiron," and to hint at young
Mrs. Fermor's " calling 'erself a lady," which she
had not done, though perhaps considering the
title implied. Taking a kind of short cut, the
Siberian cabman got into a network of slums and
narrow streets, devoted to ancient smelling fishes,
and meat perhaps as old, and, to the general
furnishing of a larder, mostly in a state of decay.
Where, too, were some old book- stalls and some
curiosity shops. And here, while turning a
corner, the pendulum limbs of the cab-horse
slipped from beneath him, and he was on the
stones—himself as rough and as angular as a heap
of stone.

In an instant there was a crowd; a crowd that
came from behind the ancient meats and ancient
fishes, and put of dark places yet further behind,
just like brigands stopping a diligence. The two
women inside, long since in trepidation at these
strange regions, were now filled with terror,
especially when the Siberian, instead of striving
to raise his beast, came straight to the window,
and began to assail them publicly as the authors
of the misfortune. This was " wot it was come
to," he said, still maintaining the irony. He
hoped they liked it, and "was proud of their
work."

"Let us out! let us out! Do, please," said
young Mrs. Fermor, as the ring of faces drew
closer to listen.

The Siberian put his hands in his pockets.
"You want to see it, do ye? Nice ladies, ugh!
Now," he said, suddenly growing savage, " wot
are ye going to do? Come?"

"O, this is dreadful!" said Mrs. Fermor.
"Help us, do. Do please let us out. Here is
money."