"Did he divine whence came the bread that was purchased by your services to the statuary, the artist, the sculptor, and the photographer? You yourself assured me that you kept your avocations a profound secret." "Were I inclined to sell myself for gold, Greenwood would become a liberal purchaser," said Ellen. "All your sophistry is vain. You cannot seduce me from that state of tranquil seclusion in which I now dwell." "At least grant your unknown lover an interview, and let him plead his own cause," exclaimed the hag, who did not calculate upon so much firmness on the part of the young lady. "Ah! think not that he is unknown," cried Ellen, a light breaking in upon her mind: "a man of pure and stainless life, virgin of all sin,—a man endowed with a handsome person, and a brilliant intellect,—a man whose eloquence acts as a spell upon all classes,—a man possessed of a large fortune and enjoying a high position,—such is your description! And this man must have seen me to love me! Now think you I cannot divine the name of your phœnix?" "You suspect then, my child——" "Nay—I have something more than mere suspicion in my mind," interrupted Ellen. "Oh! now I comprehend the motive of that apparent earnestness with which he implored me to reveal the secret sorrow that oppressed me! In a word, old woman," added the young lady, in a tone of superb contempt, "your phœnix is the immaculate rector of St. David's!" "And do you not triumph in your conquest, Miss?" demanded the hag, irritated by Ellen's manner. "Oh! yes," exclaimed the young lady, with a sort of good-humoured irony; "so much so, that I will meet him when and where you will." "Are you serious?" inquired the hag, doubtfully. "Did I ever jest when I agreed to accept the fine offers which you made me on past occasions?" asked Ellen. "No: and you cannot have an object in jesting now," observed the old woman. "But when and where will you meet him who is enamoured of you?" "You say that he will make any sacrifice to please me?" "He will—he will." "Then he cannot refuse the appointment which I am about to propose to you. On Monday evening next there is to be a masked ball at Drury Lane Theatre. At ten o'clock precisely I will be there, dressed as a Circassian slave, with a thick veil over my face. Let him be attired as a monk, so that he may be enabled to shroud his features with his cowl. We shall not fail to recognise each other." "Again I ask if you are in earnest?" demanded the old woman, surprised at this singular arrangement. "I was never more so," answered Ellen. "But why cannot the appointment take place at my abode?" said the hag. "Oh! fie—the immaculate rector in your dirty court in Golden Lane!" ejaculated Ellen. "That court was once good enough for you, my child," muttered the old woman.