"I am accustomed to be treated
respectfully," she replied. "I wish you good-morning."

The easy landlord pressed her back into her chair. "Don't be a fool,"
he said; "James is in London--James is staying in my house. What do you
think of that?"

Mrs. Westerfield's bold gray eyes expressed eager curiosity and
interest. "You don't mean that he is going to be barman here again?"

"No such luck, my dear; he is a gentleman at large, who patronizes my
house."

Mrs. Westerfield went on with her questions.

"Has he left America for good?"

"Not he! James Bellbridge is going back to New York, to open a saloon
(as they call it) in partnership with another man. He's in England,
he says, on business. It's my belief that he wants money for this new
venture on bad security. They're smart people in New York. His only
chance of getting his bills discounted is to humbug his relations, down
in the country."

"When does he go to the country?"

"He's there now."

"When does he come back?"

"You're determined to see him, it appears. He comes back to-morrow."

"Is he married?"

"Aha! now we're coming to the point. Make your mind easy. Plenty of
women have set the trap for him, but he has not walked into it yet.
Shall I give him your love?"

"Yes," she said, coolly. "As much love as you please."

"Meaning marriage?" the landlord inquired.

"And money," Mrs. Westerfield added.

"Lord Le Basque's money."

"Lord Le Basque's money may go to the Devil!"

"Hullo! Your language reminds me of the time when you were a barmaid.
You don't mean to say you have had a fortune left you?"

"I do! Will you give a message to James?"

"I'll do anything for a lady with a fortune."

"Tell him to come and drink tea with his old sweetheart tomorrow, at six
o'clock."

"He won't do it."

"He will."

With that difference of opinion, they parted.

6.--The Brute.

To-morrow came--and Mrs. Westerfield's faithful James justified her
confidence in him.

"Oh, Jemmy, how glad I am to see you! You dear, dear fellow. I'm yours
at last."

"That depends, my lady, on whether I want you. Let go of my neck."

The man who entered this protest against imprisonment in the arms of a
fine woman, was one of the human beings who are grown to perfection on
English soil. He had the fat face, the pink complexion, the hard blue
eyes, the scanty yellow hair, the smile with no meaning in it, the
tremendous neck and shoulders, the mighty fists and feet, w