On the following day, just as he had collected his rents, and was on his way out of Litany Lane, Waymark was surprised at coming face to face with Mrs. Casti; yet more surprised when he perceived that she had come out from a public-house. She looked embarrassed, and for a moment seemed about to pass without recognising him; but he had raised his hat, and she could not but move her head in reply. She so obviously wished to avoid speaking, that he walked quickly on in another direction. He wondered what she could be doing in such a place as this. It could hardly be that she had acquaintances or connections here. Julian had not given him any particulars of Harriet's former life, and his friend's marriage was still a great puzzle to him. He knew well that the girl had no liking for himself; it was not improbable that this casual meeting would make their intercourse yet more strained. He thought for a moment of questioning Julian, but decided that the matter was no business of his. It was so rare for him to meet an acquaintance in the streets, that a second chance of the same kind, only a few minutes later, surprised him greatly. This time the meeting was a pleasant one; somebody ran across to him from over the way, and he saw that it was Sally Fisher. She looked pleased. The girl had preserved a good deal of her sea-side complexion through the year and a half of town life, and, when happy, glowed all over her cheeks with the healthiest hue. She held out her hand in the usual frank, impulsive way. "Oh, I thought it was you! You won't see I no more at the old place." "No? How's that?" "I'm leavin' un to-morrow. I've got a place in a shop, just by here,--a chandler's shop, and I'm going to live in." "Indeed? Well, I'm glad to hear it. I dare say you'll be better off." "Oh, I say,--you know your friend?" "The Irishman?" "Yes." "What about him?" asked the other, smiling as he looked into the girl's pretty face. "Well," said Sally, "I don't mind you telling un where I live now,--if you like.--Look, there's the address on that paper; you can take it." "Oh, I see. In point of fact, you _wish_ me to tell him?" "Oh, I don't care. I dessay he don't want to know anything about I. But you can if you like." "I will be sure to, and no doubt he will be delighted. He's been growing thin since I told him you declined to renew his acquaintance." "Oh, don't talk! And now I must be off. Good-bye. I dessay I shall see you sometimes?" "Without doubt. We'll have another Sunday at Richmond soon. Good-bye." It was about four in the afternoon when Sally reached home, and she ran up at once to Ida's room, and burst in, crying out, "I've got it! I've got it!" with much dancing about and joyous singing. Ida rose with a faint smile of welcome. She had been sitting at the window, reading a book lent her by Waymark.