Mattie thought her one threat of a policeman sufficient; she had still a great reverence for that official personage, and believed that his very name must strike terror to guilty hearts. The effect upon her auditor led her to believe that she had been successful; but he was only alarmed at Mattie's loud voice, and the stoppage of two boys and a woman at the door. "I--I don't know what you mean--you're mad," he muttered, and then slunk out of the shop, leaving his cumbrous change for a sovereign spread over the stationer's floor. Mattie went round the counter and collected the _debris_ of mammon, minus one threepenny piece which she could not discern anywhere, but which Mr. Wesden, toiling under his monthly parcel, detected in one corner immediately upon his entrance. "Why, Mattie, what's this?--MONEY--_on the floor_!" "A gentleman dropped his change, sir." "Put it on the shelf, he'll be back for it presently." "No, I don't think he will," was Mattie's dry response. CHAPTER V. PERSEVERANCE. Mattie in her self-conceit imagined that she had frightened the prowler from Great Suffolk Street; in lieu thereof, she had only deterred him from entering a second appearance on the premises. He had made a false move, and reaped the bitter consequence. He must be more wary, if he built upon making an impression on Harriet Wesden's heart--more cautious, more of a strategist. So he continued to prowl at a distance, and to watch his opportunity from the same point of view. Presently it would come, and with the advantage of his winning tongue, which could roll off elegant phrases by the yard, he trusted to make an impression on a shopkeeper's daughter. For a moment, and after his rebuff, he had hesitated as to the expediency of continuing the siege; but his pride was aroused; it was an unpleasant end to his plans, and the chance had not presented itself yet of trying his fortune with Miss Wesden herself. Presently the hour would come; he did not despair yet; he bided his time with great patience. The time came a fortnight after that little incident in the Suffolk Street shop. Harriet Wesden was coming down the Borough towards home one wet night when he accosted her. It was getting late for one thing, and rainy for another, and Harriet was making all the haste home that she could, when he made her heart leap into her throat by his sudden "Good evening, Miss." One glance at him, the nipping of a little scream in the bud, and then she increased her pace, the prowler keeping step with her. "Will you favour me by accepting half my umbrella, Miss Wesden--for one instant then, whilst I venture to explain what may seem conduct the reverse of gentlemanly to you?" "No, sir, I wish to hear nothing--I wish to be left alone." "I have been very rude--I will ask your pardon, Miss Wesden, very humbly. But let me beg of you to listen to this explanation of my conduct." "There is nothing to explain, sir."