Betty walked home very, very slowly; she was more unhappy than she had ever been in all her life; her illusions were dispelled; her little demi-god had fallen from his pedestal, and lay shattered in the dust. A man who could court a pert, vulgar girl like Lizzie Maccabe, was not worth a second thought, nor would he be likely to think of her, but as an unsophisticated country mouse, with whom he could flirt and amuse himself. Her heart was unusually sore, and she was both silent and depressed, as she took her place at her aunt’s scantily-spread board. Various sayings of George’s came back to her now, with an entirely new interpretation! He had once told her that he thought “Elizabeth” the most beautiful name in the world, and that it exactly suited _her_, doubtless he thought that it suited Lizzie Maccabe still better! When Mr. Holroyd came over the next afternoon, ostensibly to talk about the ball--in reality to steal (if possible) a few moments with Betty--lo!--she was an ice maiden! His eager greetings, his anxious efforts to continue where he had left off, were cruelly repudiated, and silenced. What was the reason of her cold, altered manner? He could not imagine what had happened to pretty, smiling Betty, within forty-eight hours. Who was this freezingly polite, this pale, and rather silent young lady; not Betty surely? Oh no, this was a member of the family he had never met before; this was Miss Elizabeth Redmond. As Lizzie tripped home, giggling at her own cleverness, and at the recollection of Betty’s stern, shocked face, she little knew that a Nemesis was on her track, in the shape of Foxy Joe! Foxy Joe went further afield than most people; he saw a good deal, he made excellent use of his cunning eyes and capacious ears, and he did not deserve his name for nothing. Denis had recently placed figuratively the last straw on the camel’s back, and Joey, screaming with passion, his face grey with fury, had sworn a frightful oath that he would pay him out _soon_. And Denis had laughed derisively! Would Denis laugh if he knew that Joey had witnessed more than one stolen interview, that he had appropriated more than one note, and that even now _he_ was sniggering in his sleeve as he followed Lizzie home? Lizzie halted in the town, and had a long and interesting gossip with her bosom friend, the dressmaker, whilst Joey slipped down the street, and walked into Mrs. Maccabe’s establishment. Mrs. Maccabe was reading the _Freeman’s Journal_ by the light of a lamp in the front shop, and glowered at Joey and his empty basket, over her horn spectacles. “Ye left it?” she enquired curtly. “Be Gob I did.” “And brought no word about beef for corning?” “Devil a word,” scratching his head, “I handed in the basket, and passed no remark.” “That’s strange! for mostly ye have as much jaw as a sheep’s head,” sneered his employer. “And what _kept_ you?” “Faix--I was just watching Miss Lizzie.”