"Have you, though? Well, you are favoured. Let me see," he continued, consulting a little thick book which he took from a drawer. "Seven hundred and fifty and two hundred and--er--er--oh, to be sure, yes; I think I heard who it was to be. Beautiful Miss Wilson, the doctor's daughter. Let's see, she's very poor, though." I did not want to say more, but he seemed to lead me on, and get answers from me in an insidious way that I could not combat; and in spite of myself I said: "No, sir, it is Miss Carr; and she is very rich." "You don't say so!" he exclaimed, staring at me in surprise. "You don't mean the Carrs of Westmouth Street?" "Yes, sir." "Well, I am surprised," he exclaimed. "Lister's a lucky dog. Why, I see, you dog!" he said, in a bantering way, "you carry the love-letters backwards and forwards." "Oh no, sir, I--" "Hush, hush, hush! Not a word. I won't listen to you. Don't betray your master's secrets, my lad. You're a confidential messenger, and must clap a seal upon your lips." "But, sir, I--" "No, no. How much?" he said, with mock severity. "Don't speak, don't interrupt me; I'm reckoning up. Let me see--let me see--ha! that's it exactly. There we are," he continued, fastening down a note and handing it to me. "Run along, my young Mercury, and if I were you I should make cabby drive me to Oxford Street for a shilling, and save the other. That's the way to grow rich. Off you go. Take care of this." He thrust a letter into my hands, and almost pushed me out of the room, so that I had not time to speak; and before I had quite recovered from my confusion, I was in the cab, and heard the boy clerk say: "Put him down at Oxford Circus." Then the wheels began to rattle, and the door to jangle, and I sit feeling angry with myself for saying so much about Mr Lister and Miss Carr, as I recalled William Revitts' advice, often given, to "let other people talk while you make notes." The thought of where I was going soon drove my interview with Mr Brandsheim out of my head, and getting out of the cab at the Circus, I made the best of my way to the great imposing house in Westmouth Street, rang, and asked to see Miss Carr. The man-servant looked at me rather dubiously, and asked my name. Then, bidding me sit down in the great sombre-looking hall, he went up the heavy staircase, and came back to bid me follow him. I noticed as I went upstairs that the place was heavily but handsomely furnished. There were pictures on the walls of staircase and landing, and the stone steps were covered with a rich thick carpet. The wealthy look of the place, however, did not seem to abash me, for the atmosphere of refinement in which I found myself recalled old days; and the thoughts of the past seemed strengthened, as I was ushered into a prettily furnished little drawing-room, all bright with flowers, water-colour drawings, and books, from a table strewn with which latter Miss Carr arose to welcome me.