"Yes," she said aloud, with a bright look; "but don't tell Mrs. Preedy; she might be angry with me." "You speak," he said in a tone of lofty satisfaction, "to a gentleman." "I wanted to buy a ribbon," said Becky, artlessly, "and it isn't easy to choose the exact colour one would like at night, so I thought I would steal out, just as I am, while Mrs. Preedy took her nap." "Steal out--ah, yes, I understand--just as you are, charming!" "And now, although I couldn't match my ribbon--it was a very light pink I wanted--I must get back quickly." All the while they were talking he was sucking and chewing a sweetmeat; having disposed of it, he popped another into his mouth. "Quickly," he repeated, bending down, so that his face was on a level with hers. "That is--a--soon. Will you?" This question was accompanied by the offer of a little packet of acid drops, half of which he had already devoured. She took a couple with the remark that she liked chocolate creams best. "You shall have some," he said, "to-morrow. I shall walk with you; I myself am on my way to my small apartment. It is the--a--fashion for a gentleman to offer a lady one of his arms. Honour me." He held out his arm, which she declined. "I am not a lady," she said demurely; "I am only a poor servant girl." "And I," he responded insinuatingly, "am a poor gentleman. Ah! If I were--a--rich, I should say to you, accept this ring." He made a motion as if offering her a ring. "Accept this--a--bracelet," with corresponding action. "Or this dress. But I have not--a--money." He took another acid drop. "It is a misfortune. But what can a poor devil do? You do not--a--despise me because I am thus?" "Oh, no. I hope you will be rich one day." "It will happen," he said, in a quick, eager tone. "From my country"--he waved his hands vaguely--"shall come what I wait for here. Then shall I say to you, 'Becky'--pardon; I have heard the amiable Mrs. Preedy thus call you--'Becky,' shall I say, 'be no longer a servant. Be a lady.' How then, will you speak?" "I must not listen to you," replied Becky, coquettishly; "you foreign gentlemen have such smooth tongues that they are enough to turn a poor girl's head." They were now in Great Porter Square. "What a number of people there are in the square," she said. "It is--a--remarkable, this murder. The man is--a--found." "What man?" cried Becky, excitedly. "The murderer!" "Ah, no. That is not yet. It is the dead man who is--what do you call it?--discovered. That is it. He _was_ not known--he _is_ known. His name has come to the light. Yesterday he was a beggar--to-day he is rich. What, then? He is dead. His millions--in my country's money, sweet Becky, veritably millions--shall not bring life into his bones. His money is--a--here. _He_ is"--Richard Manx looked up at the sky--"Ah, he is there! or"--he cast his eyes to the pavement--"there! We shall not know till there comes a time. It is sad."