“I am sorry,” he said, “that at present I should be able to make you an offer of no more than this paltry sum.”—She burst into tears: “Your generosity, sir, is abused; to bestow it on me is to take it from the virtuous. I have no title but misery to plead: misery of my own procuring.” “No more of that,” answered Harley; “there is virtue in these tears; let the fruit of them be virtue.”—He rung, and ordered a chair.—“Though I am the vilest of beings,” said she, “I have not forgotten every virtue; gratitude, I hope, I shall still have left, did I but know who is my benefactor.”—“My name is Harley.”—“Could I ever have an opportunity?”—“You shall, and a glorious one too! your future conduct—but I do not mean to reproach you—if, I say—it will be the noblest reward—I will do myself the pleasure of seeing you again.”—Here the waiter entered, and told them the chair was at the door; the lady informed Harley of her lodgings, and he promised to wait on her at ten next morning. He led her to the chair, and returned to clear with the waiter, without ever once reflecting that he had no money in his pocket. He was ashamed to make an excuse; yet an excuse must be made: he was beginning to frame one, when the waiter cut him short by telling him that he could not run scores; but that, if he would leave his watch, or any other pledge, it would be as safe as if it lay in his pocket. Harley jumped at the proposal, and pulling out his watch, delivered it into his hands immediately, and having, for once, had the precaution to take a note of the lodging he intended to visit next morning, sallied forth with a blush of triumph on his face, without taking notice of the sneer of the waiter, who, twirling the watch in his hand, made him a profound bow at the door, and whispered to a girl, who stood in the passage, something, in which the word CULLY was honoured with a particular emphasis. CHAPTER XXVII. HIS SKILL IN PHYSIOGNOMY IS DOUBTED. AFTER he had been some time with the company he had appointed to meet, and the last bottle was called for, he first recollected that he would be again at a loss how to discharge his share of the reckoning. He applied, therefore, to one of them, with whom he was most intimate, acknowledging that he had not a farthing of money about him; and, upon being jocularly asked the reason, acquainted them with the two adventures we have just now related. One of the company asked him if the old man in Hyde Park did not wear a brownish coat, with a narrow gold edging, and his companion an old green frock, with a buff-coloured waistcoat. Upon Harley’s recollecting that they did, “Then,” said he, “you may be thankful you have come off so well; they are two as noted sharpers, in their way, as any in town, and but t’other night took me in for a much larger sum. I had some thoughts of applying to a justice, but one does not like to be seen in those matters.”