n to hide their unlovely affairs from her, but the
new lover had exposed his, and claimed her assistance in carrying them
forward. This was a degradation that she could not submit to. It did
not natter her, or minister to her self-respect.

Again and again had Mr. Belcher urged her to get the little Sevenoaks
pauper into her confidence, and to ascertain whether his father were
still living. She did not doubt that his fear of a man so poor and
powerless as the child's father must be, was based in conscious knavery;
and to be put to the use of deceiving a lad whose smile of affectionate
admiration was one of the sweetest visions of her daily life, disgusted
and angered her. The thought, in any man's mind, that she could be so
base, in consideration of a guilty affection for him, as to betray the
confidence of an innocent child on his behalf, disgraced and degraded
her.

And still she walked back and forth in her drawing-room. Her thoughts
were uneasy and unhappy; there was no love in her life. That life was
leading to no satisfactory consummation. How could it be changed? What
could she do?

She raised her eyes, looked across the street, and there saw, loitering
along and casting furtive glances at her window, the very lad of whom
she had been thinking. He had sought and waited for her recognition, and
instead of receiving it in the usual way, saw a beckoning finger. He
waited a moment, to be sure that he had not misunderstood the sign, and
then, when it was repeated, crossed over, and stood at the door. Mrs.
Dillingham admitted the boy, then called the servant, and told him that,
while the lad remained, she would not be at home to any one. As soon as
the pair were in the drawing-room she stooped and kissed the lad,
warming his heart with a smile so sweet, and a manner so cordial and
gracious, that he could not have told whether his soul was his own or
hers.

She led him to her seat, giving him none, but sitting with her arm
around him, as he stood at her side.

"You are my little lover, aren't you?" she said, with an embrace.

"Not so very little!" responded Harry, with a flush.

"Well, you love me, don't you?"

"Perhaps I do," replied he, looking smilingly into her eyes.

"You are a rogue, sir."

"I'm not a bad rogue."

"Kiss me."

Harry put his arms around Mrs. Dillingham's neck and kissed her, and
received a long, passionate embrace in return, in which her starved
heart expressed the best of its powerf