id to Jervy.

Mrs. Sowler asked no more questions. She relapsed into muttering
to herself, under her breath. "His whiskers have turned gray, to be
sure--but I know his eyes again; I'll take my oath to it, there's no
mistaking _his_ eyes!" She suddenly appealed to Jervy. "Is Mr. Farnaby
rich?" she asked.

"Rolling in riches!" was the answer.

"Where does he live?"

Jervy was cautious how he replied to that; he consulted Phoebe. "Shall I
tell her?"

Phoebe answered petulantly, "I'm turned out of the house; I don't care
what you tell her!"

Jervy again addressed the old woman, still keeping his information in
reserve. "Why do you want to know where he lives?"

"He owes me money," said Mrs. Sowler.

Jervy looked hard at her, and emitted a long low whistle, expressive of
blank amazement. The persons near, annoyed by the incessant whispering,
looked round irritably, and insisted on silence. Jervy ventured
nevertheless on a last interruption. "You seem to be tired of this," he
remarked to Phoebe; "let's go and get some oysters." She rose directly.
Jervy tapped Mrs. Sowler on the shoulder, as they passed her. "Come and
have some supper," he said; "I'll stand treat."

The three were necessarily noticed by their neighbours as they passed
out. Mrs. Farnaby discovered Phoebe--when it was too late. Mr. Farnaby
happened to look first at the old woman. Sixteen years of squalid
poverty effectually disguised her, in that dim light. He only looked
away again, and said to his wife impatiently, "Let us go too!"

Mrs. Farnaby was still obstinate. "You can go if you like," she said; "I
shall stay here."

CHAPTER 4

"Three dozen oysters, bread-and-butter, and bottled stout; a private
room and a good fire." Issuing these instructions, on his arrival at the
tavern, Jervy was surprised by a sudden act of interference on the part
of his venerable guest. Mrs. Sowler actually took it on herself to order
her own supper!

"Nothing cold to eat or drink for me," she said. "Morning and night,
waking and sleeping, I can't keep myself warm. See for yourself, Jervy,
how I've lost flesh since you first knew me! A steak, broiling hot from
the gridiron, and gin-and-water, hotter still--that's the supper for
me."

"Take the order, waiter," said Jervy, resignedly; "and let us see the
private room."

The tavern was of the old-fashioned English sort, which scorns to learn
a lesson of brightness and elegance from France. The private room c