s, had contrived somehow to convey the idea that he
was speaking of dazzling beauty, not by any means unadorned.

"I tell you this, Jerry, and you can believe me or not, as you like. If
I was a young feller, I'd hang about Hy' Park all day long only to get a
squint at her. My word!--there's nothing to come anigh her--ever I saw!
And there she was, a-kissing our little Dolly, like e'er a one of us!"

"What do you make out her name to be?" said Mr. Jerry.

"Sister Nora called her _Gwen_," replied Mo, speaking the name
mechanically but firmly. "But what the long for that may be, I couldn't
say. 'Tain't Gwenjamin, anyhow." He stopped to light his pipe.

"It was this young ladyship that carried off old Prichard in a two-horse
carriage, I take it."

Uncle Mo nodded. "Round to Sister Nora's--in Cavendish Square--with a
black Statute stood upright--behind palin's. M'riar she's been round to
see the old lady there, being told to. And seemin'ly this here young
Countess"--Uncle Mo seemed to object to using this word--"she's a-going
to carry the old lady off to the Towels, where she lives when she's at
home...."

"The Towels? Are you sure it isn't _Towers_? Much more likely!"

Uncle Mo made a mental note about Jerry, that he was tainted with John
Bull's love of a lord. How could anything but a reverent study of
Debrett have given such an insight into the names of Nobs' houses? "It
don't make any odds, that I can see!" was his comment. The correction,
however, resulted in an incumbrance to his speech, as he was only half
prepared to concede the point. He continued:--"She's a-going, as I
understand from M'riar, to pack off Mrs. Prichard to this here Towels,
or Towers, accordin' as we call it. And, as I make it out, she'll keep
her there till so be as Mr. Bartlett gets through the repairs. Or she'll
send her back to a lodgin'; or not, as may be. Either, or eye-ther."
Having thus, as it were, saturated his speech with freedom of
alternative, Uncle Mo dismissed the subject, in favour of Gwen's beauty.
"But--to look at her!" said he. The old man was quite in love.

Mr. Jerry disturbed his contemplation of the image Gwen had left him.
"How long does Bartlett mean to be over the job?" he asked.

"He means to complete in a month. If you trust his word. I can't say I
do."

"When _will_ he complete, Mo? That's the question. What's the answer?"

"The Lord alone knows." Uncle Mo shook his head solemnly. But he
recalled his words. "N