"I told you, Mr Poynter, a short time back, that I did not understand women," said the doctor gravelly. "I cannot tell. Say Nature's heaven-gift for her defence."

"Humph!" said Poynter, staring. "I say, doctor--cigar, you know. Could you give a fellow a mouthful of something that would take the taste out of one's mouth? Going to see a lady."

"Try cold water," said the doctor, in a tone of voice which sounded like throwing that fluid upon he young man's hopes; but he had so much faith in himself that the verbal water glanced from his fine feathers, and after rinsing his mouth, he shook hands clumsily, intending to leave the doctor's fee within his palm, but managed to drop the more valuable of the two coins on the edge of the fender, when it flew beneath the grate, and had to be fished out with the tongs.

"Dodgy stuff, money, doctor," said Poynter, setting down the fire-iron, and blowing the coin.

"Don't take all that trouble, pray."

"Oh, it's no trouble, doctor. I was never above picking up a sov.

There, don't you come. I know my way;" and he left the consulting-room to go into the house and learn his fate.

"Brute!" said the doctor, with a look of disgust, as he sank into his chair. "Why is Fate so unfair with her gold! I thought as much, but Richmond will say _no_."

"Old lunatic!" said James Poynter, with his fat upper lip curling in disgust, as his eyes lit on the row of glass jars with their ghastly contents. "Once I get my lady home, I don't mean to see much of him.

Here, boy," he said, as he reached the hall, and so suddenly that there was nearly a serious accident, for Bob was coming down the balustrade from the first floor, gliding upon the central part of his person with arms and legs extended--taking hold having grown common.

The sharp "Here, boy!" so startled him that he overbalanced himself, went right over, but caught at the upright spindly bars, and so far saved himself that he came down upon his feet in a couple of somersaults, recovering himself directly, and coming forward with a grin upon his bloodless face, as if the feat had been intended.

"Ah, you'll break your neck some day. Here's a shilling for you. Take me into Miss Chartley at once."

Bob bit the coin, and slipped it into his pocket before he replied, "Gone out."

"Gone out? Will she be long?"

"Dessay she'll be hours, sir."

James Poynter stamped with his foot, and muttered something unparliamentary.

"Tell Miss Chartley," he said. "No, don't tell her anything. Here, let me out."

Bob ran to the ponderous old door, and stood holding it open with his eyes glittering as he stared at the visitor, till he had hurried out with his hat set very much on one side, and walked sharply away.

"Thought he'd want the bob again," said the boy. "Just do for the old gal. Well, I'm blessed!"

This last consequent upon his catching sight of a shabby-looking figure in black, with a damaged bonnet, and a weirdly dissipated look, rising slowly into sight up the area-steps, and then coming out of the creaking gate to the boy, who grew more serious the nearer the figure came.

It was not a pleasant face to look upon, for it was not over-clean; the black and grey hair was ill-arranged, and the eyes that shone above the flushed cheeks belied the woman sadly if they did not tell the truth about potations.

"Why, Bob, my darling," she said, with an exaggerated fawning smile, "and how is my bonny boy?"

"Here stow that, mother," cried the lad, struggling from an embrace.

"Don't! Can't yer see I've been brushing my hair?"

"Yes, and it looks beautiful, ducky. I've been knocking ever so long at the hairy door, and that fine madam saw me, and wouldn't let me in."

"No; she says I ain't never to let you in no more."

"Not let me in no more to see my own boy?"

"No; she says you took some fresh butter last time you was here, and you sha'n't come."

"Then you sha'n't stay, Bob; I'll take you away, my darling. Oh, it's a wicked, cruel world!"

"Here, I say, mother, stow that. Whatcher want?"

"What, my darling? Yes, that's it: want--staring want; but you sha'n't stay here."

"Get out. I shall."

"No, you sha'n't, you ungrateful boy. I won't be separated from my own child. Bob dear, have you got any money?"

"Eh?"

"Anybody give you anything?" whined the woman. "There ain't been nothing pass my lips this blessed day."

"Oho! what a wunner!" cried the boy. "Why, I can smell yer."

"No, no, my dear; that's Mrs Billson as you can smell. I've been talking to her, and she drink 'orrid. Ain'tcher got a few pence for your poor lone mother, who's ready to break her heart sometimes because she's parted from her boy?"

"Will you go away if I give you something?"

"Go away? Oho!" whined the woman, wiping off a maudlin tear with the end of her shawl.

"Here, I say, don't cry on the front-doorsteps. Come down in the hairy, where nobody can't see you."

"Driven away by my own boy! Oho, oho!"

"'Tain't my fault. Doctor said you wasn't to come, and if you did he'd send me away."

"Then come home, Bob, to your poor heartbroken mother."

"Walker!" cried the boy. "Why yer ain't got no home to give a chap."

"No home?"

"Well, I don't call that a home, living up in a hattic along o' old Mother Billson."

"Oh, you ungrateful boy! Ain't it enough for me to have come down so that I'm obliged to see my own son in liveries, without him turning against me."

"Who's a-turning again you? Don't cry, I tell yer," he said, angrily stamping a foot.

"Then you shall come home."

"Sha'n't. I ain't going to leave the doctor and Miss Rich for nobody, so there."

"Ugh, you viper!"

"Here, stow that. Who's a viper? See what they've done for me when I was runned over. Why, if it hadn't been for Miss Rich a-nussing of me when you was allus tipsy, you wouldn't have had no boy at all, only a dead 'un berrid out at Finchley along o' the old man."