"But I lotht thwee thouthand, though—and a pwethiouth wage I wath in," said Sir Cherry. "Because you kept your shares too long, my dear fellow," remarked Greenwood coolly. "No, my good woman—I have nothing for you!" These last words were uttered, in a loud tone, and accompanied by a stern shake of the head, to a poor, ragged, shivering creature, who had paused on the pavement outside to solicit alms from the aristocrats assembled at the window. The miserable woman cast one glance of ineffable anguish on Mr. Greenwood, and then hurried away, overwhelmed by the savage determination of his refusal. "That poor wretch has been good-looking in her time," said Mr. Smicksmack. "Although it is nearly dark, I caught sight of her countenance by the light of the lamp." "And so did I," whispered Lord Dunstable to Colonel Cholmondeley, whom he drew aside. "Do you know who that was?" he asked in a low and somewhat hoarse tone. "No: how the devil should I?" said the Captain, also sinking his voice—but simply because Dunstable did so. "If that poor mendicant were not Lydia Hutchinson," returned the young nobleman, "I never was more mistaken in my life. But, my God! how altered!" And for a few moments his countenance became inexpressibly sad. "What nonsense to give way to feelings of that kind!" whispered Cholmondeley. "But she was once so beautiful!" said Dunstable. "Do you remember the first time we ever met her—in Hyde Park——" "I was thinking a deuced deal too much about Adeline Enfield, at that time, to bother myself about Lydia What-'s-her-name," interrupted the colonel, impatiently. "Come—it's of no use yielding to maudlin feelings of that kind, Dunstable. We are all going to dine together presently: and if you wear that kill-joy countenance, I shall wish you at the devil." [Illustration] Then the Captain drew the young nobleman back to the group in the window; and in a few minutes the sprightly nature of the conversation banished from Dunstable's mind the unpleasant reminiscences which had been temporarily excited by the sudden appearance of one whom he knew so well! In the meantime that miserable female pursued her way down St. James's Street. The weather was cold—dreadfully cold: the streets were damp—and she had neither shoes nor stockings! An old cotton gown, a wretched rag of a shawl, and a broken straw bonnet, constituted her sole attire. Not an article of clothing had she more than those enumerated. She had parted with her under garments to obtain the means of subsistence; not even a petticoat had she beneath that thin cotton gown! When she stopped for a moment to implore alms at the Club-window, it was the first time she had ever begged. She had not recognised _him_ who had recognised her: but the stern countenance of Greenwood, as he refused her a single penny from his immense wealth, had struck her with despair. If the rich would not assist her, how could she hope for succour from the poor?