himself.

He asked Hardy to introduce him; and presently, using that tact for
which he was famous, induced Louisa to accompany him to a sofa at a
little distance, where they sat together laughing and chatting, and
Hardy was relieved to find that he need not pay this bold-looking girl
any attention.

The supper was over before the young men arrived, but the atmosphere of
the room was close with a mixture of tobacco and spirits. Several very
fat and loudly dressed old ladies were talking to a still fatter and
more loudly dressed old lady at the head of the room. This was the
hostess. Clay, the pawnbroker, a little man with a deeply wrinkled
face and shrewd, beadlike, black eyes, was darting in and out amongst
his friends, laughing loudly, cracking jokes, and making himself
generally facetious and agreeable. He clapped Jim on the shoulders,
assured him that he was delighted to see him, and dragged him up to the
sofa, where Louisa and Sampson were having a very open flirtation.

"My gel will be right glad to see yer," he said to Jim, with a broad
wink. "Eh, Louisa, who have I brought, eh? You are sure to give Hardy
a welcome, aint you, lass?"

"If he'll take it, of course," she replied.

She jumped up and gave Jim a second glance of unequivocal admiration.

"It was good of you to come," she said, in a low tone. "I thought that
you were a bit troubled to-day; but maybe that is why you have come, to
be cheered up."

Jim flushed and felt uncomfortable; he could not tell Louisa his real
motive; he felt ashamed of himself, and longed to be out of this noisy
scene.

"And it isn't that I don't pity you," she continued. "Of course I can
see that you are cut up; who would have thought that a gel like
Alison----"

Jim put up his big hand.

"Not a word," he said; "I won't discuss it--I can't!"

"You are awful cut up, old fellow, aint you?" said Louisa, moving a
step or two out of the crowd and motioning him to a corner. "Look
here," she continued, "there's a quiet nook here, just under the
stairs; let us stand here for a minute, I want to talk to yer. I know
you are cut up, and I am sorry--yes, that I am."

"I can't discuss it with you, Miss Clay," said Jim.

"Oh, aint it stiff of you to call me Miss Clay!" she retorted; "when
you know me so well."

"Perhaps it is," he answered, too good-natured to be rude to her. "I
will call you Louisa if you like; but Louisa or Miss Clay, whichever
you are, I can't tal