Mrs. Hutchins's face grew visibly paler
through the dirt that obscured it. " I— I—
meant no offence, sir," she stammered,
whiningly.

"Very well. Since, however, you will not
allow me to come into your house, I must ask
what I have to ask on the door-step. I have
some reason to suppose it possible that you
may know where my brother, Mr. Walter
Charlelewood. is staying at present. I—I have
mislaid his address," pursued Clement, with a
sudden instinctive mistrust of the false face
before him, " and I wish particularly to
communicate with him without delay."

Mrs. Hutchins looked at him curiously, with
her head on one side. "Oh," she said, slowly,
"was that what you wanted to make inquiries
about?"

"Yes; and I tell you plainly, that if you can
give me any information— and I shrewdly
suspect by your manner that you can— you had
best do so at once."

"Had I really?" she returned, with rapidly
reluming self-possession. "And supposing I
can't give you no information, what then, Mr.
Charlewood?"

"Then I must seek it elsewhere. But you
won't refuse to tell me where my brother is, if
you know. It is very important that I should
find him."

Mrs. Hutchins threw the door wide open, and
pointed into the house as she had seen the
indignant heroine do at a minor theatre. Any
one who labours under the delusion that affectation
is the exclusive property of fine ladies and
gentlemen, would have been undeceived on
beholding Mrs. Hutchins's behaviour. She turned
her eyes on Clement with an expression of
languid scorn.

"Search my 'ouse," she said, loftily. " Cry
'avoc on my very 'arthstone. Never blench,
Mr. Charlewood. I am pore and lowly, and of
course 'ave a right to be insulted."

"You foolish woman, I have no thought of
insulting you. If you know where my brother
is, say so in Heaven's name, without more ado.
If not, it is useless to waste my time here any
longer."

"Sir, I may be a foolish woman— thanking
you for the compliment— but I do not know
where your brother has betook himself to. How
should I know? I'll ask you that, Mr. Charlewood,
and doubtless in your superior wisdom
you will frame a answer!"

"How should you know, indeed?" said
Clement, with a sigh. " I came here on a
forlorn hope, and God knows, I cannot tell
where to turn to next." He walked away
despondently, and quite insensible to Mrs.
Hutchins's parting shot.

"Returning your polite salutes, sir, and
don't mention the trouble you've gave, I beg!"

The woman watched him witli an evil smile
on her face. " Who sent him here, I wonder!"
she said, pondering. "And how did he find me
out? You're a nice genteel amiable gentleman,
Mr. Clement Charlewood, and joy go with
you, for a stuck-up, proud, overbearing, low-
minded— Ah, but there, sprung from the
kennel, and what can we expect! It ain't the
money as does it. In his rich days, he was
always a low, plodding, vulgar fellow, and never
took no notice of me in my own house. Whilst
for heighth, and poetry, look at Alf! But it
ain't," added Mrs. Hutchins, with modest
candour, " it ain't every one as has my fine
feelin's. I can't abear lowness. Nor yet
meanness."

JOHN SKEEME, THE PROMOTER.

IN TWO PARTS. PART I.

MY first acquaintance with Mr. Skeeme— he
was in those days simply called Skeeme, without
the prefix of Mr.— was about the year 1838
or '39. I had then a near relative, a bachelor,
who was very well off, and was living in a very
comfortable—an almost luxurious— small house
in South Audley-street, He had an income of
about three thousand pounds a year, was
captain and lieutenant-colonel in a battalion of the
Guards stationed in London, kept his brougham
as well as a couple of riding-horses, and was, on
the whole, what at the present day would be
called a decided " swell." To this gentleman
John Skeeme was valet and factotum; and as
I—then a schoolboy— used to spend a portion of
my holidays th my relative, I of course got to
know his right-hand man. My cousin was very
kind to me, and often took or sent me to the
different theatres. When he could not go
himself, he always told Skeeme to take me, and
desired him to give me anything I wanted in the
shape of supper afterwards, but to take care
that I fell into no bad company. No man
could be more trustworthy than Skeeme. He
always took charge of me with the greatest
readiness, although I have no doubt his doing
so often interfered with his own evening amusements.
Nothing could be more kind, and yet
at the same time more respectful, than he was.
His dress and manner gave him more the
appearance of a semi-clerical private tutor
than a valet, and had it not been for a trick he
had of dropping his H's, and an incurable
habit he had of adding an R to the end of every
word ending with a vowel, he might very
well have passed for a somewhat dandyfied
curate—that is, according to the coats, neckties,
and waistcoats, which were worn by gentlemen
who had " taken orders" in the days when
ritualism was as yet unheard of in the land. I
have no doubt that Skeeme made altogether a
very nice thing out of my cousin: who, though
not an extravagant man, left everything to his
valet, and merely looked at the total of the latter's
account-book when he presented it every month:
giving him a cheque for the amount without
asking a question. In fact, it always appeared
to me that Skeeme appeared to have more
ready money than his master. Every week or
so my cousin would ask me, laughingly, whether
I wanted pocket-money? And, as like all schoolboys