were fastened with
buckles, completed his attire. But the fine open face, with its winning
smile, and white forehead shaded by clustering curls, could not be
disguised. Brian had a charm about him few people could resist.

He lived with his aunts, who were fashionable mantua-makers and
milliners in John Street, and their rooms were frequented by many of the
_elite_, who came to them to consult about the fashion and the mode,
although the Miss Hoblyns' fame was not, in 1779, what it became when
the Duchess of York consulted them as to her "top-gear" a few years
later.

At this time they were young women, and had only laid the foundation of
the large fortune which the patronage of the Royal Duchess is said to
have built up at last. Brian Bellis was therefore lifted far above
anything like poverty, and his aunts gave him a trifle for his pocket,
as well as his schooling, and were proud of his prominence in the choir
of the Octagon Chapel, where on Sundays the sisters always appeared in
the latest fashions. Indeed their dress on Sundays was eagerly scanned
by ladies of the fashionable congregation as we might scan a
fashion-book in these days.

Brian had seen Norah several times with a burden he thought too heavy
for her to carry, and he had gallantly taken the basket from her hand
and carried it for her.

Those were the days when there was money to pay for marketings, and
before the accident happened which had laid her father low. But Brian
was not a fair-weather friend, and that meat-pie and bun were not the
first that he had bought out of his pocket-money for the now forlorn
child.

He was running away to the rehearsal for next Sunday's music, when he
jostled against Leslie Travers, who was coming out of the Pump Room.

Brian came to a dead stop, and said respectfully:

"Sir, there is a man and a little girl in great want in Crown Alley; the
child was at Mr. Herschel's door last night."

"This is a lucky chance," Leslie Travers said, "for I am looking for
Brian Bellis. Are you Brian Bellis? I know your face amongst the singers
in the Octagon"--adding to himself, "a face not likely to forget."

It was lighted now with the fire of enthusiasm, as he said:

"Oh! sir; yes, I am Brian Bellis, and I can show you the way to Crown
Alley; not now, for I have to be at the rehearsal. But, sir, I will come
to the Pump Room this afternoon, and I will go with you then. I wish I
could stay now, but I dare not. Mr. Herschel n