"My husband is!" The woman spoke shortly, and in a tone which made Madge regret her thoughtlessness. The thin face grew lined and troubled; her voice sank to a whisper. "I hate 'em!" she whispered. "I hate the sight of 'em. They have been the ruin of us. We used to be in quite a big way. We've come down and down. I don't know what will happen next." Madge murmured sympathetically and bent her head over her work. All unwillingly she had touched upon the family skeleton, and it was difficult to know how to offer consolation when the offender himself was within hearing distance. She worked steadily at her sketch, while the woman sat down to her sewing, and for several moments the silence was unbroken. Then came the tinkle of the little bell, and two customers entered the shop. Madge heard a request for tobacco and a sporting paper, but she was in the middle of some fine printing and did not lift her head from her sheet. The proprietor was evidently weighing out the tobacco while his customers studied the paper. Suddenly one of them spoke in a reproachful voice: "You were wrong about Friday's race, Mr Edwards. Brownie was not in it! You have not been fortunate in your tips lately." "Jolly bad tips!" cried another voice, at the sound of which Madge's pencil slipped from her hand and rolled across the table. She bent forward to rescue it, casting at the same time a lightning glance through the half-opened door. The two customers were still standing before the counter, the younger of the two speaking in hot, excited tones: "I wish I had never taken your advice. It's been a bad business for me. I've lost five pounds this last fortnight." "I wish _I_ had got off with five pounds, sir," sighed the tobacconist; and his wife echoed the sigh with hopeless resignation. Then the bell jingled once more, the customers left the shop, and five minutes later Madge pushed back her chair and prepared to follow their example. "Bless me, miss, you _are_ white!" cried the woman anxiously. "Have you turned faint? Sit down, my dear, and I'll make you a cup of tea." "Thank you, you are very kind, but I shall be all right when I get into the air. The room--the room is rather warm." Madge gave a nickering smile, pulled herself together, and went through the concluding interview with the shopman with creditable composure; but once outside in the street, and lost in the deadliest of all solitudes-- a London crowd--her agitation could no longer be restrained.