"Lean on me," said Patty, lightly; "and don't let's be miserable;" and they now began to descend the stairs; but only to be met by D. Wragg stumping and jerking up to meet them. As the dealer came up, he gazed earnestly for a moment at Patty, and there was a hesitating air about him; but he seemed to chase it away, as, with an effort, he exclaimed-- "Here don't you make no--Here, Miss Pellet, my dear, you're wanted." "Wanted!" said Patty, instinctively shrinking back, while Janet's dark fierce eyes gazed from one to the other. "Yes; wanted--in the shop," said D. Wragg. "You don't mind coming, do you? Don't stop her, Janet; it may mean money, you know." "But who--who wants me?" faltered Patty, one of whose hands tightly pressed the long restraining bony fingers of Janet--"who wants me?" "It's one o' them swells as come about the dorg!" Volume 1, Chapter XXVIII. THE ALARM QUELLED. By nine o'clock in the morning of the day succeeding that of his dinner-party at Norwood, Mr Richard Pellet, eager and anxious, was in Borton Street. He would have been there hours before, but Mrs Richard Pellet had been suffering from over-excitement, which was her way of describing a sharp fit of indigestion, brought on by over-indulgence in the good things of the table. So Mrs Richard Pellet had been faint and hysterical, and violently sick and prostrated. She had consumed nearly a half-bottle of the best Cognac; the servants had been, like their master, up nearly all night; and the consequence was, that about five o'clock, Mr Richard Pellet had lain down for an hour, which in spite of his anxiety extended itself to three. He awoke under the impression that he had been asleep five minutes, when he smoothed himself, hurried to the train, took a cab, and arrived at Borton Street two hours later than he had intended. If he could have made sure that, now she was gone, he would see no more of Ellen Herrisey, he would have ceased from troubling himself in the matter; but, as he would have expressed himself, in his position the dread of any exposure was not to be borne. It would never have done for his name--the name of Mr Richard Pellet-- known everywhere in the city; down, too, in so many lists amongst the great philanthropists of the day, to be brought forward in such a connection, and then to be dragged through the mud and laughed at by those who had grudged his rise. Why! his name was held in honour by all the great religious societies, whose secretaries invariably sent him reports of their proceedings, and they did no more for what Richard called the "nobs." So by nine the next morning he was at Borton Street, hot, angry, undecided, and uncomfortable.