The discovery that he moved in a set above her own had raised him in her opinion. Latterly she had been looking down on Laurence, as already stated--perhaps only an inch or so, but still, she placed herself above him. He had drawn a great and unexpected prize in the matrimonial lottery, but he scarcely seemed to realize the value of his treasure! She had bracketed Laurence mentally with obscurity, shabbiness, and poverty, and had a vague idea that only through her means could he ever emerge into the sunshine of prosperity. She had a kind of protecting affection for him, dating from the days when she had starved for his sake, and made his bed and his beef tea, and washed his shirts. She looked down upon him just a little. It is possible to be fond of a man and to entertain this feeling. And now Laurence’s busy clerks, and these coroneted envelopes had given her ideas a _shock_. She went over and stood in the window, and drummed idly upon the small old-fashioned panes, where not a few names and initials were cut. As she stood thus--certainly a very pretty figure to be seen in any one’s window, much less that of an avowed anchorite like Laurence Wynne--a young gentleman sauntered to the opposite casement, with his hands in his pockets and his mouth widely yawning, as if he were on the point of swallowing up the whole premises. He paused in mute astonishment, and gazed incredulously across the narrow lane that divided the two buildings. Then Madeline distinctly heard him shout in a stentorian voice-- “I say, Wallace, come here, quick--quick, and look at the girl in Wynne’s window! My wig, ain’t that a joke?” On hearing this summons she instantly backed out of sight, and had the amusement of seeing three heads peering across, vainly endeavouring to catch a glimpse of the promised apparition. However, they saw her depart--although she was not aware of the fact--and they were highly pleased with her figure, her walk, and her feet, and took care to tell Mr. Wynne of their gratifying and flattering opinion, and to poke him in the ribs with a walking-stick--not as agreeable or facetious an action as it sounds--and to assure him that “he was a sly old bird, and that still waters run deep, and that they had no idea he had such good taste;” all of which witticisms Mr. Wynne took in anything but good part, especially as he could not tell them that the lady upon whom they passed such enthusiastic encomiums was his wife. Indeed, if he had done so they would only have roared with laughter, and flatly refused to believe him. Madeline waited three-quarters of an hour, and then made up her mind to return home. As she walked through the outer office, once more thickly veiled, the alert clerk sprang forward to open the door. As he held it back, with an inky hand, he said, with a benevolent grin-- “When Mr. Wynne comes back, who shall I say called, miss?”