ifficulties on both sides, it seemed to her that,
at the present moment, the lesser difficulties would be encountered
by adhering to Tribbledale. She could excuse herself with Crocker.
Paradise Row had already declared that the match with Crocker must
be broken off. Crocker had indeed been told that the match was to be
broken off. When Tribbledale had come to her overnight she had felt
herself to be a free woman. When she had given way to the voice
of the charmer, when she had sunk into his arms, softened by that
domestic picture which he had painted, no pricks of conscience had
disturbed her happiness. Whether the "Dismissal--B. B." had or had
not yet been written, it was sure to come. She was as free to "wed
another" as was Venice when her Doge was deposed. She could throw
herself back upon the iniquity of the torn papers were Crocker to
complain. But should she now return to her Crocker, how could she
excuse herself with Tribbledale? "It is all over between you and me,
Sam," she said with her handkerchief up to her eyes.

"All over! Why should it be all over?"

"You was told it was all over."

"That was when all the Row said that I was to be dismissed. There was
something in it,--then; though, perhaps, a girl might have waited
till a fellow had got up upon his legs again."

"Waiting ain't so pleasant, Mr. Crocker, when a girl has to look
after herself."

"But I ain't dismissed at all, and there needn't be any waiting.
I thought that you would be suffering as well as me, and so I came
right away to you, all at once."

"So I have suffered, Sam. No one knows what I have suffered."

"But it'll come all right now?" Clara shook her head. "You don't mean
that Tribbledale's been and talked you over already?"

"I knew Mr. Tribbledale before ever I saw you, Sam."

"How often have I heard you call him a poor mean skunk?"

"Never, Crocker; never. Such a word never passed my lips."

"Something very like it then."

"I may have said he wanted sperrit. I may have said so, though I
disremember it. But if I did,--what of that?"

"You despised him."

"No, Crocker. What I despise is a man as goes and tears up Her
Majesty's Mail papers. Tribbledale never tore up anything at Pogson
and Littlebird's,--except what was to be tore. Tribbledale was never
turned out for nigh a fortnight, so that he couldn't go and show
his face in King's Head Court. Tribbledale never made hisself hated
by everybody." That unknown abominable wo