e, retained from all sorts
of chance encounters by his capable mind. Had the British Museum been
open to visitors in the hours of the evening, or on Sundays, Bob Hewitt
would possibly have been employing his leisure nowadays in more
profitable pursuits. Possibly; one cannot say more than that; for the
world to which he belonged is above all a world of frustration, and
only the one man in half a million has fate for his friend.

Much Clem cared for antiquities; when she had wearied herself in
pretending interest, a seat in an unvisited corner gave her an
opportunity for more congenial dialogue.

'How's Mrs. Pennyloaf?' she asked, with a smile of malice.

'How's Mr. What's-his-name Snowdon?' was the reply.

'My husband's a gentleman. Good thing for me I had the sense to wait.'

'And for me too, I dare say.'

'Why ain't you at work? Got the sack?'

'I can take a day off if I like, can't I?'

'And you'll go 'ome and tell your wife as you've been working. I know
what you men are. What 'ud Mrs. Pennyloaf say if she knew you was here
with me? You daren't tell her; you daren't!'

'I'm not doing any harm as I know of. I shall tell her if I choose, and
if I choose I shan't. I don't ask _her_ what I'm to do.'

'I dare say. And how does that mother of hers get on? And her brother
at the public? Nice relations for Mr. Bob Hewett. Do they come to tea
on a Sunday?'

Bob glared at her, and Clem laughed, showing all her teeth. From this
exchange of pleasantries the talk passed to various subjects--the
affairs of Jack Bartley and his precious wife, changes in Clerkenwell
Close, then to Clem's own circumstances; she threw out hints of
brilliant things in store for her.

'Do you come here often?' she asked at length.

'Can't say I do.'

'Thought p'r'aps you brought Mrs. Pennyloaf. When'll you be here again?'

'Don't know,' Bob replied, fidgeting and looking to a distance.

'I shouldn't wonder if I'm here this day next week,' said Clem, after a
pause. 'You can bring Pennyloaf if you like.'

It was dinner-time, and they left the building together. At the end of
Museum Street they exchanged a careless nod and went their several ways.

CHAPTER XXV

A DOUBLE CONSECRATION

Bessie Byass and her husband had, as you may suppose, devoted many an
hour to intimate gossip on the affairs of their top-floor lodgers.
Having no relations with Clerkenwell Close, they did not even hear the
rumours which spread from Mrs. Peckove