He thrust out a finger straight at the boy’s father. With his heart beating faint and small, the boy watched his father vanish out of his ken. He passed out through a side door in the custody of two immense police constables. “My husband, Lord Pomeroy,” said a woman who sat next to the elderly man with the grey hair and the impressive manners, “my husband, Lord Pomeroy, is much displeased that my purse has been stolen, and he would be here personally to express his displeasure had he not been commanded to Windsor unexpectedly.” These words, very loudly spoken, seemed to provoke a kind of joyful flutter in the breasts of all present. Even in the breast of the boy it provoked a flutter, yet not perhaps of a similar kind. It was the sound of the loud and harsh voice itself which to him was of sinister omen. As in an agony of remembrance he felt what this voice denoted, the blood ran as water in his veins. “I am sure, Lady Pomeroy,” said the man with grey hair in a most silken manner, “in your misfortune you are entitled to every sympathy from this court. May it trust that there was nothing of great value in your purse.” “Oh dear, _dear_ no!” said the woman emotionally, “there was nothing _whatever_ in my purse, but I can’t _live_ without it.” “Quite so, just so,” said the man with grey hair. “The court appreciates that perfectly. It feels you are entitled to every sympathy.” “Pray what is the use of sympathy, my dear good man,” said the woman petulantly, “if it doesn’t restore my purse?” “Precisely, dear Lady Pomeroy,” said the man with grey hair, “your concern for your purse is most natural.” At this stage in the proceedings the man with grey hair gave a kind of benevolent signal to a sedulous-looking man, whose hair was very glossy, who sat immediately opposite to him, and who at this moment was engaged in sharpening a lead pencil. “But, dear Lady Pomeroy,” said the man with grey hair, speaking very slowly and with his eye fixed on the man opposite, “sympathy is not necessarily barren, even if it is not fertile of visible result.” Upon the utterance of these words, an extremely intellectual looking police constable, who was stationed in the centre of the crowded room, broke into a sudden and totally unexpected guffaw of laughter, which he turned into a cough with equal suddenness and great dexterity. His action incited the row of gaily dressed females to give vent to a little melodious cackle. These in turn seemed to incite the man who had been sharpening the lead pencil to write furiously. And all these portents having assured the man with grey hair that his memorable utterance had passed into history, he composed his features into a form of polite expostulation that words so trivial should have achieved that destiny.