"Then why do you want to stay among them?"

"My dear man, just because they _are_. It makes me hate them so."

"Hate them? I thought you liked them."

"Don't be stupid. What I 'like' is just to loathe them. You wouldn't
believe what passes before my eyes."

"Then why have you never told me? You didn't mention anything before I
left."

"Oh I hadn't got round to it then. It's the sort of thing you don't
believe at first; you have to look round you a bit and then you
understand. You work into it more and more. Besides," the girl went on,
"this is the time of the year when the worst lot come up. They're simply
packed together in those smart streets. Talk of the numbers of the poor!
What _I_ can vouch for is the numbers of the rich! There are new ones
every day, and they seem to get richer and richer. Oh, they do come up!"
she cried, imitating for her private recreation--she was sure it wouldn't
reach Mr. Mudge--the low intonation of the counter-clerk.

"And where do they come from?" her companion candidly enquired.

She had to think a moment; then she found something. "From the 'spring
meetings.' They bet tremendously."

"Well, they bet enough at Chalk Farm, if that's all."

"It _isn't_ all. It isn't a millionth part!" she replied with some