"Ralph and me were married in the same year, and his shop—it was a shop then, afterwards an establishment, if you please—was in our street. My Matthew was a baker,—I ain't ashamed of it,—Ralph Trulock was a master tailor, what they call a milingtery tailor, uniforms and the like, and officers always going in and out, going to India and sich. He got on wonderful—often I said to my poor Matthew that's dead and buried, that pride will have fall, and a 'aughty sperrit goes before bankruptcy, which is as true a word as any other Solomon ever said. And yet it lasted a long time, too. Mrs. Trulock had her carriage, and Fred his pony, and afterwards his horse, and they lived in a viller like the gentry, and Ralph looked down on Matthew and me, as if we were no more than a couple of our own penny rolls. The boy grew up—and a fine young man to look at—but got into fine company through knowing the officers that came to the shop, and it was he could spend faster than Ralph could save. And his father was terrible hard on him—Ah! A hard man Trulock was, even then, and—" Here the welcome sound of a knock at the door reached May's ears. She sprang from her chair, saying, "That is Mr. Cloudesley; he promised to come for me." "I'll let him in, ma'am—what, you must go? Well, I must finish my story. Fred spent everything, and then ran away because the father was so hard on him, and left Trulock in debt awful—he's never got before the world since, and had to pay half a crown in the pound, and the wife died—" "I beg your pardon, Mrs. Short, but Mr. Cloudesley must find it very cold." "Yes, ma'am, I must let the dear gentleman in. And Ralph, ma'am—I have my own suspicions about the way things went at the last; but that's neither here nor there, and certain it is his behaviour killed his wife; and when Fred ventured back, he cursed him frightful, and has always sent back his letters, just tore up, and—" "I really must not keep Mr. Cloudesley waiting any longer; that is the third time he has knocked," cried May in desperation; and going quickly to the door, she opened it herself. Mrs. Short followed her as fast as she could, and began at once: "Well, sir, you must not think me unmannerly for letting your good lady open the door for you, for we were so interested in what we were saying, that we quite forgot that you had knocked, and then when you knocked again she ran like a hare, and I hadn't a chance with her. Must you go at once, sir? Well, ma'am, call again soon, and I'll tell you plenty more about him; but you may take my word for it, he brought that boy up very badly, and then turned on him, broke his wife's heart, and owes a mint o' money, leastways did, but went through the courts, you know, and got himself whitewashed; and what he's starving himself for now I don't know, and I'd give my ears to find out, though not curious by nater." "Good evening, Mrs. Short," said May gravely, as she took her husband's arm and turned away.