‘Well, that is something,’ said Wentworth; ‘birth and connection are of some account in politics.’ ‘I should think so,’ said the Baronet. ‘And the borough is Liberal?’ ‘Most decidedly.’ ‘And you have a good chance of success?’ ‘Yes; if it were not for the publicans, who have great influence, and are bitterly opposed to the Liberals.’ ‘Naturally; their craft is in danger. Well, I might run down to one or two of your meetings.’ ‘Thanks; I’m much obliged. I thought about having a public meeting next week. There is no time to lose. It is a great thing to be first in the field.’ Just as Wentworth was about to reply, the door opened, and the actress rushed in. Suddenly perceiving that Wentworth had company, she exclaimed: ‘I beg pardon. I thought you were alone.’ ‘Never mind, madam,’ said the Baronet; ‘we have just finished what we had to say,’ turning to address the last comer. All at once he faltered, and turned all the colours of the rainbow. Could it be? Yes, it was the poor girl he had brought up to London, and then deserted—left, as he coolly supposed, to perish on the streets, and whom, to his surprise, he had seen radiant on the stage. A stony and contemptuous stare was the actress’s only reply. ‘Dear me,’ said the Baronet, recovering his self-possession. ‘’Pon my honour, this is an unexpected pleasure;’ but before he had finished his sentence Rose had gone. ‘You’ll excuse me, I am sure,’ said the Baronet, turning round to Wentworth; ‘I believe that young lady and I are old friends. I had lost sight of her for a long while, and to my intense astonishment and gratification I found her acting at Drury Lane. I followed her the other night in a cab in order to overtake her and explain everything; but her coachman was quicker than mine, and I was obliged to give up the chase.’ ‘I am sorry you should have had so much trouble, Sir Watkin. That young lady needs no attention from you, nor will she require any explanation.’ ‘Well, I am sure I congratulate you, Mr. Wentworth, to have such an acquaintance,’ returned the Baronet ungraciously. ‘Her beauty as a girl quite overcame me, and I was very much tempted to act in a foolish manner to her. We men of the world are apt to do silly things.’ ‘Instead,’ said Wentworth, with increasing anger, ‘you preferred to make a fool of her. I found her when you had thrown her off, and abandoned her to the cruel mercies of the world. I saw her in her bitter agony and despair. I saved her from dishonour. For all you cared she might have been on the streets in infamy and rags. She has little to thank you for. I know how she had been deceived. Weeping, she told me the story of her life; but I never knew who was the wrong-doer until this moment. I have an account to settle with him,’ he added angrily. ‘And you find him penitent,’ said the Baronet. ‘Penitent or not, I vowed I would call him to account.’