‘Keep it, keep it, my child; you deserve it; and take this shilling to keep it company,’ said poor Bob Tuppit, who in his agitation had failed in one of the simplest tricks of the prestidigitator, as his brethren in the craft delight to call themselves. At another time, the failure would have been humiliating to the last degree; but at present the conjurer was too much occupied with matters of grave importance to feel his discomfiture. Mrs Wrentham entered. ‘I understand you bring a message from my husband, sir,’ she said in her timid way. ‘Not exactly, ma’am; but I want to speak to you about him. I am a friend of his, or I should not be here.’ He glanced towards Ada as he spoke, suggesting by the look that the child should be sent out of the room. But Mrs Wrentham was too simple to understand the hint, and Tuppit was obliged to take the matter into his own hand. ‘I’ll tell you what, Ada; you might be a good magician now, if you like. You could run out to the garden and pluck me a sprig of holly for my little girl. She is very fond of shrubs and flowers; will you send her some?’ ‘O yes. There is such a nice sprig of holly up at the summer-house that I was keeping for Christmas; but your little girl shall have it.—Is she as old as me?’ ‘Just about the same age; and now I look at you, she is rather like you.’ Ada flew out at the door; and Tuppit turned eagerly to Mrs Wrentham, his little form seeming to enlarge with the earnestness of his speech. ‘You are astonished, ma’am, at the liberty I am taking; but the fact is your husband has got into ... well, got into a scrape.—Please, don’t alarm yourself. I hope we shall pull him through all right. I only came to warn you, knowing that he might have forgotten it.’ ‘Warn me about what?’ exclaimed the lady, trembling without knowing why. ‘That a gentleman will call here to-day and make inquiries about your husband. Answer him frankly, and, if you can manage it, do not look as if you were afraid of him. He is a good-natured chap, and will not press you very hard. But you must try to be quite calm and say nothing about my visit.’ The poor lady became pale immediately; and the first dreadful thought which occurred to her was that Wrentham had met with a serious accident of some sort—she had never approved of his horse-racing and horse-dealing proclivities. This good-natured friend was no doubt trying to break the horrible truth to her as gently as possible. ‘Oh, please tell me the worst at once. Is he much hurt—is he killed?’ Bob Tuppit stared; but quickly comprehended the mistake which the wife had made. ‘He is neither hurt nor killed, and is likely to live for a good many years to come,’ he said reassuringly. ‘He has got into a bother about some money matters. That is all.’