"Innocent, your feelings are justifiable, and you will find Mr. Hollingworth ready to make amends. In what he said I fully concurred. I will explain as briefly as possible the matter of which Mr. Parkinson complains. He is a working-man, living in the east of London. He has one child, a young woman named Mary." Mr. Manners paused; Mark Inglefield never winced. "This daughter, it appears," continued Mr. Manners, "has fallen a victim to the designs of a scoundrel. She fled from her home at this scoundrel's instigation, who, wearying of her, deserted her and left her, ruined and penniless, to die or pursue her life of shame." "It is not at all an unusual story," said Mark Inglefield, apparently listening to the narrative with great interest, "but I fail to see its relation with me." "Had it not been," continued Mr. Manners, "for the kindness of a lady who, according to Mr. Parkinson, is universally beloved for her goodness of heart, the unhappy girl, driven to despair, would probably have committed suicide; but this lady--" "Lady, sir?" interrupted Mark Inglefield, noting with curiosity a certain emphasis of tenderness which, unconsciously to himself, Mr. Manners put upon the word. "I said a lady, although she is as poor as those among whom she lived." "Ah," sneered Mark Inglefield, "a piece of working-man's clap-trap, introduced for the purpose of imposing upon your benevolence." "I am not noted for benevolence," said Mr. Manners, dryly; "it would not have been to my discredit had I been more charitable in my career." Mark Inglefield stared at his patron. This was a new phase in the rich man's character, and, with his altered demeanor, for which Inglefield could discover no explicable reason, boded changes. Still he did not lose his self-possession. "Of every twenty who beg of you," he said, "nineteen are rank impostors." "Possibly; but that does not affect our present business. The lady I refer to stepped in at a critical moment, nursed the poor girl and brought her to reason, and finally succeeded in reconciling her father with her, who received her again in his home." "Ah!" thought Mark Inglefield, "Mary is at home, then. I shall know where to find her." Aloud he said, "Why do you pause, sir?" "I supposed you were about to speak," replied Mr. Manners. "No. I was only thinking that this Mr. Parkinson was not a bad sort of fellow." "Because of his reconcilement with his only child," asked Mr. Manners, "who not only offended but disgraced him!" "Yes, because of that," said Mark Inglefield. "It speaks well for him?"