Whether Mrs. Sowler had her mind prophetically fixed on a fourth glass of grog, or whether she thought it time to begin asking questions on her own account, is not easy to say. Whatever her motive might be, she slyly shook her head, and winked at Jervy. “The money’s my business,” she remarked. “You tell me where he lives--and I’ll make him pay me.” Jervy was equal to the occasion. “You won’t do anything of the sort,” he said. Mrs. Sowler laughed defiantly. “So you think, my fine fellow!” “I don’t think at all, old lady--I’m certain. In the first place, Farnaby don’t owe you the debt by law, after seven years. In the second place, just look at yourself in the glass there. Do you think the servants will let you in, when you knock at Farnaby’s door? You want a clever fellow to help you--or you’ll never recover that debt.” Mrs. Sowler was accessible to reason (even half-way through her third glass of grog), when reason was presented to her in convincing terms. She came to the point at once. “How much do you want?” she asked. “Nothing,” Jervy answered; “I don’t look to _you_ to pay my commission.” Mrs. Sowler reflected a little--and understood him. “Say that again,” she insisted, “in the presence of your young woman as witness.” Jervy touched his young woman’s hand under the table, warning her to make no objection, and to leave it to him. Having declared for the second time that he would not take a farthing from Mrs. Sowler, he went on with his inquiries. “I’m acting in your interests, Mother Sowler,” he said; “and you’ll be the loser, if you don’t answer my questions patiently, and tell me the truth. I want to go back to the debt. What is it for?” “For six weeks’ keep of a child, at ten shillings a week.” Phoebe looked up from her plate. “Whose child?” Jervy asked, noticing the sudden movement. “Morgan’s child--the same man you said was Farnaby.” “Do you know who the mother was?” “I wish I did! I should have got the money out of her long ago.” Jervy stole a look at Phoebe. She had turned pale; she was listening, with her eyes riveted on Mrs. Sowler’s ugly face. “How long ago was it?” Jervy went on. “Better than sixteen years.” “Did Farnaby himself give you the child?” “With his own hands, over the garden-paling of a house at Ramsgate. He saw me and the child into the train for London. I had ten pounds from him, and no more. He promised to see me, and settle everything, in a month’s time. I have never set eyes on him from that day, till I saw him paying his money this evening at the door of the hall.” Jervy stole another look at Phoebe. She was still perfectly unconscious that he was observing her. Her attention was completely absorbed by Mrs. Sowler’s replies. Speculating on the possible result, Jervy abandoned the question of the debt, and devoted his next inquiries to the subject of the child.