of
Sidney Kirkwood and of the Hewetts; he knew they were all gone to a remote part
of London, and more than this he had no longer any care to discover. On
excellent terms with his landlady, he skilfully elicited from her now and then a
confidential remark with regard to Jane; of late, indeed, he had established
something like a sentimental understanding with the good Bessie, so that,
whenever he mentioned Jane, she fell into a pleasant little flutter, feeling
that she understood what was in progress. ... Why not? - he kept asking himself.
Joseph Snowdon (who addressed his letters to Hanover Street in a feigned hand)
seemed to have an undeniable affection for the girl, and was constant in his
promises of providing a handsome dowry. The latter was not a point of such
importance as a few years ago, but the dollars would be acceptable. And then,
the truth was, Scawthorne felt himself more and more inclined to put a certain
question to Jane, dowry or none. ...
 
Yes, she felt it as a disgrace, poor girl! When she saw the name Snowdon in the
newspaper, in such a shameful and horrible connection, her impulse was to flee,
to hide herself. It was dreadful to go to her work and hear the girls talking of
this attempted murder. The new misery came upon her just as she was regaining
something of her natural spirits, after long sorrow and depression which had
affected her health. But circumstances, now as ever, seemed to plot that at a
critical moment of her own experience she should be called out of herself and
constrained to become the consoler of others.
    For some months the domestic peace of Mr. and Mrs. Byass had been gravely
disturbed. Unlike the household at Crouch End, it was to prosperity that Sam and
his wife owed their troubles. Year after year Sam's position had improved; he
was now in receipt of a salary which made - or ought to have made - things at
home very comfortable. Though his children were now four in number, he could
supply their wants. He could buy Bessie a new gown without very grave
consideration, and could regard his own shiny top-hat, when he donned it in the
place of one that was really respectable enough, without twinges of conscience.
    But Sam was not remarkable for wisdom; indeed, had he been anything more
than a foolish calculating-machine, he would scarcely have thriven as he did in
the City. When he had grown accustomed to rattling loose silver in his pocket,
the next thing,