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“Mr. Maldon is not at home, sir,” she said, with insinuating civility; “but if it’s for the water-rate, he requested me to say that—”

She was interrupted by little George Talboys, who scrambled down from the high chair upon which he had been perched, and ran to Robert Audley.

“I know you,” he said; “you came to Ventnor with the big gentleman, and you came here once, and you gave me some money, and I gave it to gran’pa to take care of, and gran’pa kept it, and he always does.”

Robert Audley took the boy in his arms, and carried him to a little table in the window.

“Stand there, Georgey,” he said, “I want to have a good look at you.”

He turned the boy’s face to the light, and pushed the brown curls off his forehead with both hands.

“You are growing more like your father every day, Georgey; and you’re growing quite a man, too,” he said; “would you like to go to school?”

“Oh, yes, please, I should like it very much,” the boy answered, eagerly. “I went to school at Miss Pevins’ once—day-school, you know—round the corner in the next street; but I caught the measles, and gran’pa wouldn’t let me go any more, for fear I should catch the measles again; and gran’pa won’t let me play with the little boys in the street, because they’re rude boys; he said blackguard boys; but he said I mustn’t say blackguard boys, because it’s naughty. He says damn and devil, but he says he may because he’s old. I shall say damn and devil when I’m old; and I should like to go to school, please, and I can go to-day, if you like; Mrs. Plowson will get my frocks ready, won’t you, Mrs. Plowson?”

“Certainly, Master Georgey, if your grandpapa wishes it,” the woman answered, looking rather uneasily at Mr. Robert Audley.

“What on earth is the matter with this woman,” thought Robert as he turned from the boy to the fair-haired widow, who was edging herself slowly toward the table upon which little George Talboys stood talking to his guardian. “Does she still take me for a tax-collector with inimical intentions toward these wretched goods and chattels; or can the cause of her fidgety manner lie deeper still. That’s scarcely likely, though; for whatever secrets Lieutenant Maldon may have, it’s not very probable that this woman has any knowledge of them.”

Mrs. Plowson had edged herself close to the little table by this time, and was making a stealthy descent upon the boy, when Robert turned sharply round.

“What are you going to do with the child?” he said.

“I was only going to take him away to wash his pretty face, sir, and smooth his hair,” answered the woman, in the most insinuating tone in which she had spoken of the water-rate. “You don’t see him to any advantage, sir, while his precious face is dirty. I won’t be five minutes making him as neat as a new pin.”

She had her long, thin arms about the boy as she spoke, and she was evidently going to carry him off bodily, when Robert stopped her.

“I’d rather see him as he is, thank you,” he said. “My time in Southampton isn’t very long, and I want to hear all that the little man can tell me.”

The little man crept closer to Robert, and looked confidingly into the barrister’s gray eyes.

“I like you very much,” he said. “I was frightened of you when you came before, because I was shy. I am not shy now—I am nearly six years old.”

Robert patted the boy’s head encouragingly, but he was not looking at little George; he was watching the fair-haired widow, who had moved to the window, and was looking out at the patch of waste ground.

“You’re rather fidgety about some one, ma’am, I’m afraid,” said Robert.

She colored violently as the barrister made this remark, and answered him in a confused manner.

“I was looking for Mr. Maldon, sir,” she said; “he’ll be so disappointed if he doesn’t see you.”