Under the influence of drink a man approached the corner where Rose was sitting, caught hold of her arm, and with an oath attempted to drag her off her seat. Her scream brought a crowd around, but not before her assailant had been knocked down by a gentleman, who was one of the wall-flowers watching the dancers, pretending to enjoy themselves. The affrighted proprietor of the place rushed up. If there was a row he might lose his license. The police were outside. He brought with him his chuckers-out, and order was restored. In the confusion attending its restoration Rose managed to find her way to the door, her defender walking by her side. ‘Outside,’ she exclaimed joyfully, ‘thank God!’ ‘Ah,’ said her companion, ‘how came you there? That was not the place for you.’ ‘No, no,’ she said passionately; ‘I was wretched and I went in; but,’ she added, ‘you—how came you there?’ ‘What! do you know me?’ ‘Of course I do. You came to Sloville, and you made a speech at the Chartist meeting. You were a minister then, I think.’ ‘You are right,’ said Wentworth, for it was he; ‘I was hoping to be a minister then. You may well ask how I came to be in yon place. Know, then, that I am a minister no longer—that illusion is past—that I am now a writer for the press and a man about town.’ ‘Oh, I am so sorry,’ said the girl. ‘I thought you made such a good speech at the Chartist meeting, and hoped that you would do a great deal of good in the town. Are you happier now than you were then?’ ‘Happier, no!’ ‘Wiser?’ ‘Yes, much, and gayer a great deal.’ ‘Ah then, your experience is something like my own. We are all alike. As soon as Adam and Eve had eaten of the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil they ceased to be happy. I don’t believe there is such a thing as happiness in the world. I was so wretched that I crept in yon den for warmth and shelter, and out of curiosity to see if that sort of thing was happiness.’ ‘And what did you think?’ ‘Why, that a costermonger’s wife has a happier lot.’ ‘“Foolish soul,”’ continued Wentworth, ‘“what Act of Legislature was there that thou shouldst be happy? A little while ago thou hadst no right to be at all. What if thou wert born and predestined not to be happy, but to be unhappy?”’ ‘What are you talking about?’ said Rose. ‘You did not speak to the people in that way at Sloville.’ ‘Ah, no! I had not read my Carlyle then. I am quoting you out of “Sartor Resartus.” Behold in me a philosopher.’ ‘Well,’ said Rose, with a smile, ‘I can’t say the sight is particularly brilliant or overpowering.’ Just at that moment up comes the policeman—the London policeman, whose chief occupation seems to be to watch men and women when they stop in the streets for a talk, and to keep out of the way when he is wanted to prop up the inebriate, or to lay hold of a pickpocket, or a burglar, or a rough.