t Highbury, you see if he don't.'

Sidney turned upon her with anything but a jesting look.

'What do you mean by that, Mrs. Byass?' he asked, sharply. 'When _what_
happens? What are you hinting at?'

'Bless us and save us!' cried Bessie. 'Here, Sam, he's going to swallow
me. What harm have I done?'

'Please tell me what you meant?' Sidney urged, his face expressing
strong annoyance. 'Why do you call me a "cool hand," and say that "I
know how to wait"? What did you mean? I'm serious; I want you to
explain.'

Whilst he was speaking there came a knock at the kitchen door. Bessie
cried, 'Come in,' and Jane showed herself; she glanced in a startled
way at Sidney, murmured a 'good-evening' to him, and made a request of
Bessie for some trifle she needed. Sidney, after just looking round,
kept his seat and paid no further attention to Jane, who speedily
retired.

Silence followed, and in the midst of it Kirkwood pushed his chair
impatiently.

'Bess,' cried Samuel, with an affected jocoseness, 'you're called upon
to apologise. Don't make a fool of yourself again.'

'I don't see why he need be so snappish with me,' replied his wife. 'I
beg his pardon, if he wants me.'

But Sidney was laughing now, though not in a very natural way. He put
an end to the incident, and led off into talk of quite a different
kind. When supper-time was at hand he declared that it was impossible
for him to stay. The hour had been anything but a lively one, and when
he was gone his friends discussed at length this novel display of
ill-humour on Sidney's part.

He went home muttering to himself, and passed as bad a night as he had
ever known. Two days later his removal to new lodgings was effected;
notwithstanding his desire to get into a cleaner region, he had taken a
room at the top of a house in Red Lion Street, in the densest part of
Clerkenwell, where his neighbours under the same roof were craftsmen,
carrying on their business at home.

'It'll do well enough just for a time,' he said to himself. 'Who can
say when I shall be really settled again, or whether I ever shall?'

Midway in an attempt to put his things in order, to nail his pictures
on the walls and ring forth his books again, he was seized with such
utter discouragement that he let a volume drop from his hand and threw
himself into a seat. A moan escaped his lips--'That cursed money!'

Ever since the disclosure made to him by Michael Snowdon at Danbury he
had been sensible