self by hoarse whispers of "he loves me, he loves me, he loves me true."

Eliza passed through the kitchen, bestowing a vindictive glance upon the light-hearted and light-footed drudge, who halted on one leg on perceiving herself observed, and brought the other gradually to the ground with the air of one who is performing an ordinary series of motions. Then she stuck out her tongue and grinned in saucy triumph.

But Eliza's breast was in too great a tumult to be much moved by these insults. To one who had just gone through a tense scene of passion, they were infantile. So, carefully avoiding any contact with the girl, or her appurtenances, she glided into the shop.

"Two twos is four, three 'aypence change. Going already, 'Lizer?" exclaimed Mrs. Dawe.

“Yes,” answered Eliza loudly. "Never more will my foot cross this threshold."

Good gracious, 'Lizer! No I 'aven't got to give ye twopence change, 'cos ye owes me 'aypenny. If yer memory's short, I don't see why my till should be. What's a-matter with you, 'Lizer? Got the sulks ?"

By this time the customers were interested in what seemed the tit-bit of a family quarrel. They even ceased masticating the material morsels for a moment.

"Ask your son," the injured girl replied. Then, with quivering lips (for what it cost her to sacrifice her pride, no one knew but herself), she said in a lower tone, though still distinctly: "We have parted for ever. He loves another."

Mrs. Dawe staggered, and all but dropped a plate. When she recovered herself, Eliza was gone. Murmurs of “Shame!" arose from the assembly, most of whom knew how long the two had kept company. Mrs. Dawe rushed into the parlour to expostulate with her son, leaving the customers to discuss the romantic story with ever-growing interest, as new perspectives unrolled themselves, and new points of view appeared. It was universally agreed that nothing else was to have been expected from such a man, and that, indeed, they had all said so on various occasions to other people who were not present on this. By the next afternoon all Bethnal Green Road knew that Jack was involved in a low intrigue with some girl, who had insisted on his getting rid of the clog of Eliza, and that by a blackguardly course of treatment he had at last succeeded in doing so.

CHAPTER VI.

THE HALL OF FLIRTATION.

ELIZA walked quickly to the bottom of the road, and entered the Bethnal Green Museum, where a mechanical contrivance ticked her off as one of the East End toilers, whose leisure was ennobled by its treasures of Art and Science. Here she found a young man impatiently walking up and down amid the cases on the groundfloor. The vast hall was almost deserted. A little flirtation was going on in corners, and the spectacle of a couple in earnest colloquy attracted no attention.

"Well!" exclaimed the young man. "Is it over?”

She gave him one pathetic glance, then averted her eyes and sank down into a seat behind an exquisite Indian vase. Mowbray hovered over her uneasily.

"What is it, my darling?" he whispered. The girl looked up with piteous reproachful gaze. "You are overcome," he said anxiously. Bess. You shall tell me at your leisure."

"Compose yourself,

The composing took a long time, during which Mowbray, surrounded as he was by masterpieces of art, had eyes for nothing but the beauties of nature. His companion sat as silent as a statue, and might have been taken for one, did not the members of that apathetic race habitually appear wholly in white, or in an exaggerated evening-dress for ladies. She wore gloves, too—a barbarous custom adopted by no self-respecting statue. Of one of these gloveswith its contents-Mowbray managed to possess himself, and he caressed it as though it were his own moustache.

"I am better now, Lionel," the girl says at last. cruel to make me suffer so."

"Suffer so!" he repeats with an indignant gesture. She smiles sadly.

« Oh ! it was

"You do not understand," she says in a low tone. "I loved him once."

As she makes the confession her thick, voluptuous eyelashes fall over her dark eyes. His grasp tightens convulsively.

"But you love him no longer?" he asks in passionate tones. Her head droops. She is silent. "My own Bess," he cries, "what change is this? Would you had never met again!"

lips.

His grasp hurts her now, but no sound of pain escapes from her

"I went to him-you know with what purpose

"Don't say you have repented, Bess!" he interrupts pleadingly. "You carried it out, did you not?"

But she continues, as though she has not heard: “I found him

sitting in the twilight on a low chair, looking so pale and feeble, that the love I had thought killed by a new affection revived. My heart grew full of pity and self-reproach. It seemed to me that I was about to blast his life. He was buried in reverie, and for a little time I stood still, overpowered by emotion. At last I put my hand to his feverish cheek-he turned, and, at the look of joy that lit up his eyes, mine filled with tears. He caught me in his arms and kissed away my courage.".

666

The listener makes a passionate movement, but she goes on: 'My love,' he cried, I thought you had left me for ever! In the gloaming, oh, my darling, I have been thinking of you.' At these words all the tender memories of the Past overwhelmed me. I thought of all our happy hours together, and I felt myself yielding."

"But you did not yield," he bursts forth.

For the first time she raises her eyes to his, and in them is the light of love which banishes all his alarm.

66

No, darling," she says, "I did not yield."

He bends down suddenly, and presses a kiss on the warm lips. Only the quaint figures on the Indian vase saw the action; but the rajahs, and the Begums, and the nabobs, and the Nautch girls were used to the sight.

66 Among the recollections which flooded my soul were the delicious days we spent at Ramsgate. But unfortunately for Jack, with the thought of them came the thought of you.”

He pats the gloved hand affectionately.

"Yes, dearest," he murmurs. "Shall I ever forget the day I took you back to Ramsgate? And you had not forgotten."

"No," she answers simply, "I had not forgotten. The thought of you made me strong again. I felt that though I loved him well, I loved you better."

He would have folded her in his arms, but the passing of a policeman prevented the ecstatic movement. There was a pause till the functionary had vanished.

"And have you entirely broken off with him yet?" he asks more calmly. "I do not want you to meet him again."

"I shall never meet him again."

"But you didn't manage to make him back out of it?" he says, with a recurrence of anxiety. "After that welcome he gave you I don't see how you could. And, to tell you the truth, I did not expect that you would. It isn't so easy to change an ardent lover into an enemy in a few moments."

The girl breaks into a low laugh of triumph. “I did, though!" "You little Machiavelli !" he cries. "I must tell the Captain."

He stops suddenly.

"Who is the Captain ?" she inquires curiously.

"An old friend of mine. And I hope he'll be my best man," he adds. "When he sees you, and hears of this, he will confess that you are an acquisition. And you will be!"

"Is he in the army, or in the navy?"

"A military man, Bess, who has often smelt gunpowder." "He must be a brave man!" she exclaims enthusiastically, her dark eyes flashing. "I think if I were a man I should love danger."

"Bravo!" he cries. "You shall be our Queen-our good Queen Bess. I am a man, but I confess I love you better than I love danger."

"But you are brave," she remonstrates. "You do not shirk danger. Do I not remember that day? Jack, Mr. Dawe, had none of that devil-may-care heroism. He painted signs from morning to night, and never fell from the ladder in his life."

"You will be happier without him," he says sympathetically. "But tell me how you managed to make him cut the knot." "The plan was simple."

"Or he was," he interrupts.

"From the way he played his

cards, I should have expected him to see through it," he thought. Suppose I am the Premier."

66

His face broadened with a smile of admiration.

"And it was you that suggested it.”

"I ? The only plan I could think of was to commence a quarrel somehow, and then keep cool and let him make all the running."

"I mean the thought of you," she says with a smile. "And of our first meeting. After some loving conversation I turned the talk on the events of that day. As I have always told you, he is a most passionate and obstinate man, and he cannot bear to be crossed. When I recalled the way he had deserted me, and said in an injured tone that he owed me an explanation, he grew dumb of a sudden."

Mowbray hangs eagerly upon her words. "Did you make him tell you anything?" he asked.

If he had, I should not have known what to do. Remembering his reluctance to be questioned, I hoped to irritate him, and I did."

Mowbray nods his head in approval. "You had only one card, but that was trumps."

"Seeing that he did not answer, I gently but firmly insisted on knowing. He was silent for a long time, but all at once he started up with a face whose horrible expression I shall never forget. 'Woman,' he cried savagely, 'why do you torture me thus?' 'Torture you, my darling,' I said reproachtully. 'You must have a good deal to be ashamed of, if a simple question tortures you. It is your conscience that tortures you, not my question.' 'Hold your tongue,' he shouted, 'mind your own business.' 'It is my business,' I answered indignantly. 'As your future wife, I demand to know this dread secret.' I could not have made a better remark; for,as he did not know what to reply, he lost his head completely. My wife shall only know what I choose to tell her,' he

screamed, hoarse with passion. And if that doesn't suit you, find a husband who will tell you all the girls he's flirted with in his life.""

"By St. Patrick, he's a trump to keep a secret!" mutters the listener. "If he were only a little less virtuous, what a good fellow

he would be."

"His last words stung me in spite of myself,” continues Eliza. ""All the girls he has flirted with,' I exclaimed bitterly. 'And have you, pray, flirted with anybody else?' 'What if I have!' he shouted. Perhaps you still flirt,' I said coldly. 'Perhaps I do,' he answered, which I knew was a deliberate lie. I uttered a shriek. 'You love another,' I cried, and stayed to hear no more. On my way out I took care to let Mrs. Dawe know that her son loved somebody else. All the customers heard the statement and saw me leave the shop with an injured mien, so that there will be no lack of witnesses."

The delighted admiration of Mowbray can no longer be restrained. He clasps her passionately to his breast.

"You little Machiavelli!" he repeats. "And you say he is

well off?"

"When we were first betrothed, two years and five months ago, he had a couple of hundred in the Moorfields Bank, I know," she says.

He kisses her again. "Two years and five months ago!" he says with a twinkle in his eye. "He has treated you shamefully."

An expression of revengeful hatred flits across her face. "That's the trick," he cries, smiling. "That will fetch the jury." Eliza looks up, half indignant, but meeting the silken monstache, the bright eyes, and the white teeth of her smiling lover, the cloud on her brow gradually dissipates. "Pon my word, Bess!" says Mowbray, "one would think you loved him still."

"Not after what he said to-day!" she cries with sudden intensity. "I hate him!" She stamps her dainty foot.

"That's right!" he says. "He shall pay dearly for his

whistle."

"I should like to ruin the scoundrel," she hisses through her clenched teeth.

"May I be hanged," he mutters, "if the copybooks aren't right after all. Honesty is the best policy, for you can steal more by law than against it.”