something as he sat
at his desk. Such was his meal now: a little bread and cheese, washed
down by a glass of water.

"Miss Polly hopes you'll take a glass of wine, Mr. Joe," said a
maid-servant, as she appeared with a decanter in her hand.

"No! Thanks--thanks to Miss Polly; many thanks--and to you Margaret; not
to-day. I have a good deal to do." And he resumed his work with that air
of determination the girl well knew brooked no interruption.

It was full an hour after sunset when he ceased writing; and then,
laying his head down between his hands, he slept,--the sound, heavy
sleep that comes of weariness. Twice or thrice had the servant to call
him before he could awake, and hear that "Miss Polly was waiting tea for
him."

"Waiting for me!" cried he, in mingled shame and astonishment. "How
forgetful I am; how very wrong of me! Is Mr. Crowther here, Margaret?"

"He came an hour ago, sir."

"Dear me, how I have forgotten myself!" And he began gathering up
his papers, the hard task of the day, in all haste. "Say I'm coming,
Margaret; tell Miss Polly I'm so sorry." And thus with many an excuse,
and in great confusion, Raper hurried out of the office, and upstairs
into the drawing-room.

Fagan's house was, perhaps, the oldest in the street, and was remarkable
for possessing one of those quaint, old-fashioned windows, which,
projecting over the door beneath,-formed a species of little boudoir,
with views extending on either side. Here it was Polly's pleasure to
sit, and here she now presided at her tea-table; while in a
remote corner of the room her father and Mr. Crowther were deep in
conversation.

"Have you finished the statement? Where 's the account?" cried Fagan,
roughly interrupting the excuses that Raper was making for his absence.

"Here it is,--at least, so far as I was able to make it. Many of our
memoranda, however, only refer to verbal arrangements, and allude to
business matters transacted personally between you and Mr. Carew."

"Listen to him, Crowther; just hear what he says," said Fagan, angrily.
"Is not that a satisfactory way to keep accounts?"

"Gently, gently; let us go quietly to work," said Crowther, a large,
fat, unwieldy man, with a bloated, red face, and an utterance rendered
difficult from the combined effects of asthma and over-eating. "Raper is
generally most correct, and your own memory is admirable. If Miss Polly
will give me a cup of her strongest tea, without any sugar, I 'll a