"This pious gentleman," said Mrs. Leslie, "will confer with you for a few moments, my child. Do not be afraid; he is the best of men." With these words of encouragement the good lady vanished, and Alice saw before her a tall dark man, with a head bald in front, yet larger behind than before, with spectacles upon a pair of shrewd, penetrating eyes, and an outline of countenance that showed he must have been handsome in earlier manhood. "My young friend," said the banker, seating himself, after a deliberate survey of the fair countenance that blushed beneath his gaze, "Mrs. Leslie and myself have been conferring upon your temporal welfare. You have been unfortunate, my child." "Ah--yes." "Well, well, you are very young; we must not be too severe upon youth. You will never do so again?" "Do what, please you, sir?" "What! Humph! I mean that you will be more rigid, more circumspect. Men are deceitful; you must be on your guard against them. You are handsome, child, very handsome--more's the pity." And the banker took Alice's hand and pressed it with great unction. Alice looked at him gravely and drew the hand away instinctively. The banker lowered his spectacles, and gazed at her without their aid; his eyes were still fine and expressive. "What is your name?" he asked. "Alice--Alice Darvil, sir." "Well, Alice, we have been considering what is best for you. You wish to earn your own livelihood, and perhaps marry some honest man hereafter." "Marry, sir--never!" said Alice, with great earnestness, her eyes filling with tears. "And why?" "Because I shall never see /him/ on earth, and they do not marry in heaven, sir." The banker was moved, for he was not worse than his neighbours, though trying to make them believe he was so much better. "Well, time enough to talk of that; but in the meanwhile you would support yourself?" "Yes, sir. His child ought to be a burden to none--nor I either. I once wished to die, but then who would love my little one? Now I wish to live." "But what mode of livelihood would you prefer? Would you go into a family, in some capacity?--not that of a servant--you are too delicate for that." "Oh, no--no!" "But, again, why?" asked the banker, soothingly, yet surprised. "Because," said Alice, almost solemnly, "there are some hours when I feel I must be alone. I sometimes think I am not all right /here/," and she touched her forehead. "They called me an idiot before I knew /him/!--No, I could not live with others, for I can only cry when nobody but my child is with me." This was said with such unconscious, and therefore with such pathetic, simplicity, that the banker was sensibly affected. He rose, stirred the fire, resettled himself, and, after a pause, said emphatically: "Alice, I will be your friend. Let me believe you will deserve it." Alice bent her graceful head, and seeing that he had sunk into an abstracted silence, she thought it time for her to withdraw.