“Yeth, thir,” was Mrs. Dibble’s reply. “It ith with feelings of thorrow and shame--though why I should have such feelings, ith not my fault or deserth--it ith, however, with these feelings that I thay yeth to you, and having had a boarding-school education ath a girl, and been brought up in the highest spear of society, it ith a degradation which I feel to the core.” “Ah, madame, dat is bad, dat is very bad; for it is goot to have education,--and why shall your husband leave you?” Mr. Gibbs shrugged his shoulders and raised his hands as he spoke, and Mrs. Dibble sighed and shook her little stumpy curls sympathetically. “It ith a long story, which I am not inclined to go into unnecessarily,” said Mrs. Dibble, “and there are griefs which are not improved by being talked about. Ath a busineth woman, and one who wath the daughter of a builder that erected hundreds of houses and public inthitutions, the specifications of which I have written out many a time,--ath a busineth woman, I would athk what your busineth ith with me? and then we can go on.” Mrs. Dibble sat down, smoothed her apron, and looked Monsieur full in the face. “If I shall pring you to vere your husband shall be, is he of--ah! vat sall I say?--is he of dat value to you for vich you sall pay mine fees, vich is out of mine pocket?” Mrs. Dibble did not reply, but proceeded to fasten her dress behind, which required a considerable effort. “You vill be surprised at vat I ask, but dat vill disappear ven I tell you I am attached to a Private Inquiry Office, vich is on de French plan, and dat I am in de detective line _à la Française_, and I can restore to your arm de husband of your heart.” “You can?” exclaimed Mrs. Dibble. “Prove that to me, and I will pay your fees.” “Is dat his writing?” he asked, showing her part of the showman’s letter. “It ith!” Mrs. Dibble exclaimed. “I should know it in ten thousand.” “Vell--fifteen pounds is my fees for his direction, vere you sall find him,” said Gibbs. Mrs. Dibble demurred to this for some time, and argued the point in a dozen ways; but Mr. Gibbs was not to be moved. Finally Mrs. Dibble gave him three five-pound notes, and in return received his address at “The Temple of Magic, Blue Posts Inn yard, Severntown.” It was rather a courageous thing on the part of Mr. Gibbs to visit Mrs. Dibble; but he no doubt felt perfectly secure in his disguise. He visited her at a time when he calculated that her lodgers would be away at their several places of business; for Paul Somerton might have been more penetrating than Mrs. Dibble. Paul still lodged with Mrs. Dibble, and was rapidly making his way to a respectable position through the kind introductions of his patron, Mr. Williamson. His unsophisticated manners, his honesty, his thoroughly English characteristics, his manliness, and his intelligent face had quite won Mr. Williamson’s heart, and he frequently invited Paul to sup with him at his chambers in the Temple.