"He was a rich gentleman, you say. What could have induced a rich man to live in such a neighbourhood?" "In such a neighbourhood!" Richard Manx smiled, and shrugged his shoulders. "Ah! he came here not to die, surely--no, to live. It would have been well--for him--that he came not; but so it was. What should induce him here? you ask of me. Becky, I shall ask of the air." He put himself into the attitude of listening. "Ha! ha! I hear perhaps the reason. There was a lady. Enough. We shall not betray more. I propose to you a thought. I live in the amiable house of Mrs. Preedy. It is high, my apartment. Wherefore? I am a poor gentleman--as yet. I am one morning discovered--dead. Startle not yourself. It will not be--no, it will not be; but I propose to you my thought. You would not be glad--you would not laugh, if so it should be?" "It would be a shocking thing," said Becky, gravely. "It is well. I thank you--your face is sad, your eyes are not so bright. Then when I am thus, as I have said--dead!--from my country comes what I wait for here--money, also in millions. 'Ah,' says the amiable Mrs. Preedy, 'what could induce'--your word is good--'what could induce one who was rich to live in such a neighbourhood?' Observe me, Becky. I place my hand, on my heart and say, 'There is a lady.' Ah, yes, though you call yourself not so, I say, 'There is a lady.' I say no more. We are at home. You are beautiful, and I--till for ever--am your devoted. If it were not for so many people--I am discreet, Becky--I should kiss your hand." And, indeed, the remark that he was discreet was proved by the change in his manner, now that he and Becky were in closer contact with strangers; the tenderness left his face, and observers at a distance would never have guessed that he was making something very much like a declaration of love to the girl. He opened the street door with his latch-key, and went up to his garret, sucking his acid drops. Becky opened the little gate and went down to her kitchen, where her mind was set at ease by seeing Mrs. Preedy still asleep in her arm chair. Becky looked at her hand. It was a pretty hand and small, but the work she had done lately rather detracted from its prettiness. There was dirt on it, too, from the scrubbing and cleaning of the day. "He would kiss my hand," she murmured. "I am afraid our innocent young man lodger is a bit of a flirt. Be careful, young man. You are not in this house without a motive; you are in danger if that motive touches the welfare of the man I love!" This soliloquy, in which she indulged in the kitchen, might have been of greater length had not Mrs. Preedy stirred in her sleep. The slight movement was sufficient to wake her. "I do believe, Becky," she said, opening her eyes, "that I have overslept myself." [Decoration] CHAPTER XXII. IN WHICH BECKY GIVES WAY TO HER FEELINGS, AND RENEWS AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE.