to know her?"

At the same moment, Mrs. Sowler reiterated her request in more
peremptory language. "Do you hear, Jervy--do you hear? Sit a little
closer."

Jervy apparently had his reasons for treating the expression of Mrs.
Sowler's wishes with deference, shabby as she was. Making abundant
apologies, he asked his neighbours to favour him by sitting a little
nearer to each other, and so contrive to leave a morsel of vacant space
at the edge of the bench.

Phoebe, making room under protest, began to whisper again. "What does
she mean by calling you Jervy? She looks like a beggar. Tell her your
name is Jervis."

The reply she received did not encourage her to say more. "Hold your
tongue; I have reasons for being civil to her--you be civil too."

He turned to Mrs. Sowler, with the readiest submission to circumstances.
Under the surface of his showy looks and his vulgar facility of manner,
there lay hidden a substance of callous villainy and impenetrable
cunning. He had in him the materials out of which the clever murderers
are made, who baffle the police. If he could have done it with impunity,
he would have destroyed without remorse the squalid old creature who sat
by him, and who knew enough of his past career in England to send him
to penal servitude for life. As it was, he spoke to her with a spurious
condescension and good humour. "Why, it must be ten years, Mrs. Sowler,
since I last saw you! What have you been doing?"

The woman frowned at him as she answered. "Can't you look at me, and
see? Starving!" She eyed his gaudy watch and chain greedily. "Money
don't seem to be scarce with you. Have you made your fortune in
America?"

He laid his hand on her arm, and pressed it warningly. "Hush!" he said,
under his breath. "We'll talk about that, after the lecture." His bright
shifty black eyes turned furtively towards Phoebe--and Mrs. Sowler
noticed it. The girl's savings in service had paid for his jewelry and
his fine clothes. She silently resented his rudeness in telling her to
"hold her tongue"; sitting, sullen, with her impudent little nose in the
air. Jervy tried to include her indirectly in his conversation with his
shabby old friend. "This young lady," he said, "knows Mr. Goldenheart.
She feels sure he'll break down; and we've come here to see the fun. I
don't hold with Socialism myself--I am for, what my favourite
newspaper calls, the Altar and the Throne. In short, my politics are
Conservative."

"Your