hat you will, seeing criminals is a-looking out of his
eyes, hide one though he may with a piece of glarse, and I ses--"

"You must go now, please," interposed the nurse.

"Oh, thank you, ma'am, but my own mistress, as is a lady, do I obey
only."

"Debby, Debby," murmured Sylvia, and after kissing Paul, a farewell
which Debby strove to hide from the nurse by getting in front of her and
blocking the view, the two departed. The nurse laughed as she arranged
Paul's pillows.

"What a strange woman, Mr. Beecot."

"Very," assented Paul, "quite a character, and as true as the needle of
the compass."

Meanwhile, Debby, ignorant of this flattering description, conducted
Sylvia to the draper's shop, and finally fixed on a hideous magenta
gown, which she ordered to be made quite plain. "With none of your
fal-de-lals," commanded Miss Junk, snorting. "Plain sewing and good
stuff is all I arsk for. And if there's any left over you can send home
a 'at of the same, which I can brighten with a cockes feather as my mar
wore at her wedding. There, my own," added Debby, as they emerged from
the shop and took a 'bus to Gwynne Street, "that's as you'll allways see
me dressed--plain and 'omely, with no more trimmings than you'll see on
a washing-day jint, as I know to my cost from my mar's ecomicals."

"Economy, Debby."

"It ain't fur me to be using fine words, Miss Sylvia; cockatoos'
feathers on a goose they'd be in my mouth. The 'ole dixionary kin do for
you my flower, but pothooks and 'angers never was my loves, me having
been at the wash-tub when rising eight, and stout at that."

In this way Debby discoursed all the way home. On arriving in the room
over the shop they found themselves confronted by Aaron, who looked
less timid than usual, and glowered at the pair angrily. "Where have
you been, Sylvia?" he asked.

The girl could not tell a direct lie, and looked at Debby. That
handmaiden, less scrupulous, was about to blurt forth a garbled account,
when Sylvia stopped her with a resolute expression on her pretty face.
"No, Debby," she commanded, "let me speak. Father, I have been to see
Mr. Beecot at the Charing Cross Hospital."

"And you couldn't have my flower do less as a good Smart 'un," put in
Debby, anxiously, so as to avert the storm. "Girls is girls whatever you
may think, sir, of them being dolls and dummies and--"

"Hold your tongue, woman," cried Norman, fiercely, "let me talk. Why is
Mr. Beecot in the hospital?"