One of them boldly advanced. He was a man of fifty or so, who, though he was dressed in the black frock which means a certain social elevation, was more common in appearance, perhaps, than any of the rest. His close-set eyes, the cunning in his face, the hungry look, the evident determination which possessed him, the longing and yearning to get some of the money shown in that look, his arched back and bending knees, proclaimed the manner of the man, who was by nature a reptile. He stepped across the room, and held out his hand. "Cousin Alice," he said softly, even sadly, as thinking of the long years of separation, "I am Charles--the Charlie of your happy childhood, when we played together in Hoxton Square." He continued to hold her hand. "This is, indeed, a joyful day. I have lost no time in hastening here, though at the sacrifice of most important business--but what are my interests compared with the reunion of the family? I say that I have lost no time, though in the sight of this crowd my action might possibly be misrepresented." "You are doing well, Charles?" asked Mrs. Haveril, with some hesitation, because, though she remembered the cousinship, she could not remember the happy games in Hoxton Square. "Pretty well, Alice, thank you. It is like your kind heart to ask. Pretty well. Mine is a well-known establishment. In Mare Street, Hackney. I am, at least, respectable--which is more than some can say. All I want," he stooped and whispered, "is the introduction of more capital--more capital." "We cannot talk about that now, Cousin Charles." Mrs. Haveril pushed him gently aside; but he took up a position at her right hand, and whispered as each came up in turn. The next was a man who most certainly, to judge by his appearance, was run down pretty low. He was dressed in seedy black, his boots down at heel, his tall hat limp. He stepped forward, with an affectation of a laugh. "I am your cousin Alfred, Alice. Alf, you know." She did not remember; but she offered him her hand. "I had hoped to find you alone. I have much to tell you." "A bankrupt, Alice," whispered Charles. "Actually a bankrupt! And in this company!" "If I am," said Fortune's battered plaything, "you ought to be, too, if everybody had his rights." Cousin Charles made no reply to this charge. Do any of us get our deserts? The bankrupt stepped aside. Then a pair of ladies, old and young, stepped forward with a pleasing smile. "Cousin Alice," said the elder, "I am Sophy. This is my daughter. She teaches in a Board school, and is a credit to the family, as much as if she had a place of business in Mare Street, I'm sure." "Pew-opener of St. Alphege, Hoxton," whispered Cousin Charles. And so on.