an
only be described as a museum for the exhibition of dirt in all its
varieties. Behind the bars of the rusty little grate a dying fire was
drawing its last breath. Mrs. Sowler clamoured for wood and coals;
revived the fire with her own hands; and seated herself shivering as
close to the fender as the chair would go. After a while, the composing
effect of the heat began to make its influence felt: the head of
the half-starved wretch sank: a species of stupor overcame her--half
faintness, and half sleep.

Phoebe and her sweetheart sat together, waiting the appearance of the
supper, on a little sofa at the other end of the room. Having certain
objects to gain, Jervy put his arm round her waist, and looked and spoke
in his most insinuating manner.

"Try and put up with Mother Sowler for an hour or two," he said. "My
sweet girl, I know she isn't fit company for you! But how can I turn my
back on an old friend?"

"That's just what surprises me," Phoebe answered. "I don't understand
such a person being a friend of yours."

Always ready with the necessary lie, whenever the occasion called for
it, Jervy invented a pathetic little story, in two short parts.
First part: Mrs. Sowler, rich and respected; a widow inhabiting a
villa-residence, and riding in her carriage. Second part: a villainous
lawyer; misplaced confidence; reckless investments; death of the
villain; ruin of Mrs. Sowler. "Don't talk about her misfortunes when
she wakes," Jervy concluded, "or she'll burst out crying, to a dead
certainty. Only tell me, dear Phoebe, would _you_ turn your back on a
forlorn old creature because she has outlived all her other friends, and
hasn't a farthing left in the world? Poor as I am, I can help her to a
supper, at any rate."

Phoebe expressed her admiration of these noble sentiments by an
inexpensive ebullition of tenderness, which failed to fulfill Jervy's
private anticipations. He had aimed straight at her purse--and he had
only hit her heart! He tried a broad hint next. "I wonder whether I
shall have a shilling or two left to give Mrs. Sowler, when I have paid
for the supper?" He sighed, and pulled out some small change, and looked
at it in eloquent silence. Phoebe was hit in the right place at last.
She handed him her purse. "What is mine will be yours, when we are
married," she said; "why not now?" Jervy expressed his sense of
obligation with the promptitude of a grateful man; he repeated
those precious words, "My sweet