Samuel, perfectly aware of the slavish homage which Miss. Morgan paid him, took pleasure in posing before her. It never entered his mind to make any return beyond genial patronage, but the incense of a female devotee was always grateful to him, and he had come to look upon Jessica as a young person peculiarly appreciative of intellectual distinction. A week ago, walking with her to the omnibus after an evening she had spent in Dagmar Road, he had indulged a spirit of confidence, and led her to speak of Nancy Lord. The upshot of five minutes’ conversation was a frank inquiry, which he could hardly have permitted himself but for the shadow of night and the isolating noises around them. As an intimate friend, did she feel able to tell him whether or not Miss. Lord was engaged to be married? Jessica, after a brief silence, answered that she did _not_ feel at liberty to disclose what she knew on the subject; but the words she used, and her voice in uttering them, left no doubt as to her meaning. Samuel said no more. At parting, he pressed the girl’s hand warmly. This afternoon, they began by avoiding each other’s look. Samuel seemed indisposed for conversation; he sipped at a cup of tea with an abstracted and somewhat weary air, until Miss. Morgan addressed him. ‘To-morrow is the evening of your lecture, isn’t it, Mr. Barmby?’ ‘To-morrow.’ By the agency of a friend who belonged to a society of mutual improvement at Pentonville, Samuel had been invited to go over and illumine with his wisdom the seekers after culture in that remote district, a proposal that flattered him immensely, and inspired him with a hope of more than suburban fame. For some months he had spoken of the engagement. He was to discourse upon ‘National Greatness: its Obligations and its Dangers.’ ‘Of course it will be printed afterwards?’ pursued the devotee. ‘Oh, I don’t know. It’s hardly worth that.’ ‘Oh, I’m sure it will be!’ And Jessica appealed to the sisters, who declared that certain passages they had been privileged to hear seemed to them very remarkable. Ladies were to be admitted, but the Miss. Barmbys felt afraid to undertake so long a journey after dark. ‘I know some one who would very much like to go,’ said Jessica, steadying her voice. ‘Could you spare me a ticket to give away, Mr Barmby?’ Samuel smiled graciously, and promised the ticket. Of course it was for Jessica’s own use. On the following evening, long before the hour which would have allowed her ample time to reach Pentonville by eight o’clock, she set forth excitedly. Unless Samuel Barmby were accompanied by some friend from Camberwell,--only too probable,--she might hope to make the return journey under his protection. Perhaps he would speak again of Nancy Lord, and this time he should be answered with less reserve. What harm if she even told him the name of the man whom Nancy was ‘engaged’ to marry?