ufficient justification (if necessary) for
forbidding Amelius to enter his house. "I have had enough of it," he
said, suddenly turning to his wife, "let us go."

If Mrs. Farnaby could have been forewarned that she was standing in that
assembly of strangers, not as one of themselves, but as a woman with a
formidable danger hanging over her head--or if she had only happened to
look towards Phoebe, and had felt a passing reluctance to submit herself
to the possibly insolent notice of a discharged servant--she might have
gone out with her husband, and might have so escaped the peril that had
been lying in wait for her, from the fatal moment when she first
entered the hall. As it was she refused to move. "You forget the public
discussion," she said. "Wait and see what sort of fight Amelius makes of
it when the lecture is over."

She spoke loud enough to be heard by some of the people seated nearest
to her. Phoebe, critically examining the dresses of the few ladies in
the reserved seats, twisted round on the bench, and noticed for the
first time the presence of Mr. and Mrs. Farnaby in their dim corner.
"Look!" she whispered to Jervy, "there's the wretch who turned me out of
her house without a character, and her husband with her."

Jervy looked round, in his turn, a little doubtful of the accuracy of
his sweetheart's information. "Surely they wouldn't come to the sixpenny
places," he said. "Are you certain it's Mr. and Mrs. Farnaby?"

He spoke in cautiously-lowered tones; but Mrs. Sowler had seen him
look back at the lady and gentleman in the corner, and was listening
attentively to catch the first words that fell from his lips.

"Which is Mr. Farnaby?" she asked.

"The man in the corner there, with the white silk wrapper over his
mouth, and his hat down to his eyebrows."

Mrs. Sowler looked round for a moment--to make sure that Jervy's man and
her man were one and the same.

"Farnaby?" she muttered to herself, in the tone of a person who heard
the name for the first time. She considered a little, and leaning across
Jervy, addressed herself to his companion. "My dear," she whispered,
"did that gentleman ever go by the name of Morgan, and have his letters
addressed to the George and Dragon, in Tooley-street?"

Phoebe lifted her eyebrows with a look of contemptuous surprise, which
was an answer in itself. "Fancy the great Mr. Farnaby going by an
assumed name, and having his letters addressed to a public-house!" she
sa