his frantic par may be and
marry you, my own lovey, he will, though not able to afford the marriage
fees, the same as will come out of Debby's pocket, though the laundry go
by the board. 'Eaven knows what we'll live on all the same, pore wurkhus
ijets as me an' Bart are, not bein' able to make you an' Miss Sylvia
'appy. Miss Sylvia Krill an' Norman both," ended Deborah with emphasis,
"whatever that smooth cat with the grin and the clawses may say, drat
her fur a slimy tabby--yah!"

"I see you know all," said Paul, as soon as he could slip in a word.

"Know all," almost yelled Deborah, dragging down the apron and revealing
flashing eyes, "and it's a mussy I ain't in Old Bailey this very day for
scratching that monkey of a Pash. Oh, if I'd known wot he wos never
should he 'ave got me the laundry, though the same may have to go, worse
luck. Ho, yuss! he come, and she come with her kitting, as is almost as
big a cat as she is. Mrs. Krill, bless her, oh, yuss, Mrs. Krill, the
sneakin', smiling Jezebel."

"Did she see Sylvia?" asked Beecot, sharply.

"Yuss, she did," admitted Deborah, "me lettin' her in not knowin' her
scratchin's. An' the monkey an' the kitting come too--a-spyin' out the
land as you may say. W'en I 'eard the noos I 'owled Mr. Paul, but my
pretty she turned white like one of them plaster stateys as boys sell
cheap in the streets, and ses she, she ses, 'Oh Paul'--if you'll forgive
me mentioning your name, sir, without perliteness."

"Bless her, my darling. Did she think of me," said Beecot, tenderly.

"Ah, when do she not think of you, sir? 'Eart of gold, though none in
her pocket by means of that Old Bailey woman as is a good match fur my
Old Bailey master. Ho! he wos a bad 'un, and 'ow Miss Sylvia ever come
to 'ave sich a par beats me. But I thank 'eaven the cat ain't my
pretty's mar, though she do 'ave a daughter of her own, the painted,
stuck-up parcel of bad bargains."

Paul nodded. "Calling names won't do any good, Deborah," he said sadly;
"we must do the best we can."

"There ain't no chance of the lawr gettin' that woman to the gallers I
'spose, sir?"

"The woman is your late master's lawful wife. Pash seems to think so and
has gone over to the enemy"--here Deborah clenched her mighty fists and
gasped. "Sylvia's mother was married later, and as the former wife is
alive Sylvia is--"

"No," shouted Deborah, flinging out her hand, "don't say it."

"Sylvia is poor," ended Paul, calmly. "What d