Jervy, watching her from the opposite side of the table, with Phoebe close by him as usual, had his own motives for encouraging her to talk, by the easy means of encouraging her to drink. He sent for another glass of the hot grog. Phoebe, daintily picking up her oysters with her fork, affected to be shocked at Mrs. Sowler’s coarse method of eating and drinking. She kept her eyes on her plate, and only consented to taste malt liquor under modest protest. When Jervy lit a cigar, after finishing his supper, she reminded him, in an impressively genteel manner, of the consideration which he owed to the presence of an elderly lady. “I like it myself, dear,” she said mincingly; “but perhaps Mrs. Sowler objects to the smell?” Mrs. Sowler burst into a hoarse laugh. “Do I look as if I was likely to be squeamish about smells?” she asked, with the savage contempt for her own poverty, which was one of the dangerous elements in her character. “See the place I live in, young woman, and then talk about smells if you like!” This was indelicate. Phoebe picked a last oyster out of its shell, and kept her eyes modestly fixed on her plate. Observing that the second glass of gin-and-water was fast becoming empty, Jervy risked the first advances, on his way to Mrs. Sowler’s confidence. “About that debt of Farnaby’s?” he began. “Is it a debt of long standing?” Mrs. Sowler was on her guard. In other words, Mrs. Sowler’s head was only assailable by hot grog, when hot grog was administered in large quantities. She said it was a debt of long standing, and she said no more. “Has it been standing seven years?” Mrs. Sowler emptied her glass, and looked hard at Jervy across the table. “My memory isn’t good for much, at my time of life.” She gave him that answer, and she gave him no more. Jervy yielded with his best grace. “Try a third glass,” he said; “there’s luck, you know, in odd numbers.” Mrs. Sowler met this advance in the spirit in which it was made. She was obliging enough to consult her memory, even before the third glass made its appearance. “Seven years, did you say?” she repeated. “More than twice seven years, Jervy! What do you think of that?” Jervy wasted no time in thinking. He went on with his questions. “Are you quite sure that the man I pointed out to you, at the lecture, is the same man who went by the name of Morgan, and had his letters addressed to the public-house?” “Quite sure. I’d swear to him anywhere--only by his eyes.” “And have you never yet asked him to pay the debt?” “How could I ask him, when I never knew what his name was till you told me to-night?” “What amount of money does he owe you?”