ith the misfortunes of all sorts of people: how could he refuse his
sympathy in such a case as this? He had seen the innocent face as it
looked up to the Captain, the appealing look of the girl, the piteous
quiver of the mouth, and the final outburst of tears. If it had been his
last guinea in the world, he must have paid it to have given the poor
little thing pleasure. She turned the sad imploring eyes away
directly they lighted upon a stranger, and began to wipe them with her
handkerchief. Arthur looked very handsome and kind as he stood before
the women, with his hat off, blushing, bowing, generous, a gentleman.
"Who are they?" he asked of himself. He thought he had seen the elder
lady before.

"If I can be of any service to you, Captain Costigan," the young man
said, "I hope you will command me; is there any difficulty about taking
these ladies into the garden? Will you kindly make use of my purse?
And--and I have a ticket myself which will admit two--I hope, ma'am, you
will permit me?"

The first impulse of the Prince of Fairoaks was to pay for the whole
party, and to make away with his newspaper order as poor Costigan had
done with his own ticket. But his instinct, and the appearance of the
two women, told him that they would be better pleased if he did not
give himself the airs of a grand seigneur, and he handed his purse to
Costigan, and laughingly pulled out his ticket with one hand, as
he offered the other to the elder of the ladies--ladies was not the
word--they had bonnets and shawls, and collars and ribbons, and the
youngest showed a pretty little foot and boot under her modest grey
gown, but his Highness of Fairoaks was courteous to every person who
wore a petticoat whatever its texture was, and the humbler the wearer,
only the more stately and polite in his demeanour.

"Fanny, take the gentleman's arm," the elder said; "Since you will be
so very kind--I've seen you often come in at our gate, sir, and go in to
Captain Strong's at No. 3."

Fanny made a little curtsey, and put her hand under Arthur's arm. It
had on a shabby little glove, but it was pretty and small. She was not a
child, but she was scarcely a woman as yet; her tears had dried up, and
her cheek mantled with youthful blushes, and her eyes glistened with
pleasure and gratitude, as she looked up into Arthur's kind face.

Arthur, in a protecting way, put his other hand upon the little one
resting on his arm. "Fanny's a very pretty little nam