"If the Roorkes Drift Mines would only go up to two hundred," said the girl, plucking another daisy, "I'd marry you; father has a whole trunkful of them. He got them at sixpence each, and if they went to two hundred they'd be worth half a million of money." "Is there any chance, do you think?" asked Leavesley brightening. He knew something of stock exchange jargon. The Captain was great on stock exchange matters, when he was not occupied in pawning his clothes and sending wild messages to his friends for assistance. "I think so," said Fanny. "Mr Bevan said they were going into Liqui----something." "Liquidation." "Yes--that's it." Leavesley sighed. An old grey horse cropping the grass near by came and looked gloomily at the humans, snorted, and resumed his meal. "What's the time?" asked Miss Lambert, putting on her gloves. Leavesley looked at his watch. "Half-past six." "Gracious! let's go; it will take us hours to get home." She rose to her feet and shook her dress. "I wonder where old Mr Verneede can be?" said the girl, looking round as though to find him lurking amidst the foliage. "It's awful if we've lost him." "We have his ticket, too," said Leavesley. "He's very likely gone back to the station; if we don't find him there I'll leave his ticket with the station-master." He rose up, and the daisy-chain round his neck fell all to pieces in ruin to the ground. They found Mr Verneede waiting for them at the station, smelling of beer, and conversing with the station-master on the weather and the crops. At Liverpool Street, having seen Miss Lambert into an omnibus (she refused to be seen home, knowing full well the distance from Highgate to Chelsea), Leavesley, filled with a great depression of spirits, went with Verneede and sat in pubs, and smoked clay pipes, and drank beer. This sorry pastime occupied them till 12.30, when they took leave of each other in the King's Road, Leavesley miserable, and Verneede maudlin. "She sent me her love," said Mr Verneede, clinging to his companion's hand, and working it like a pump handle. "Bless you--bless you, my boy--don't take any more--Go--bless you." When Leavesley looked back he saw Mr Verneede apparently trying to go home arm-in-arm with a lamp-post. _PART III_ CHAPTER I AN ASSIGNATION So, it would seem from the artless confession of Miss Lambert, that Patience Hancock had only too much reason for her fears: the lilac silk necktie had not been bought for the edification of Bridgewater and the junior clerks. That the correct James Hancock had fuddled himself with punch, told droll stories, and lent Mr Lambert twenty pounds, were facts so utterly at variance with the known character of that gentleman as to be unbelievable by the people who knew him well.