one was washing crockery, the other, who had been filling coal-scuttles,
stood with dirty hands and melancholy visage, his eyes fixed on the floor.
Their looks met; Mr. Rymer took a step forward, smiling with confidential
sadness.

'I feel that I ought to speak frankly,' he said, in a voice as polite and
well-tuned as ever. 'I should like to make known to you the exact state of
my affairs.'

'Oh, but Mrs. Rymer has told me everything,' replied Miss Shepperson, as
she dried a tea-cup.

'No; not quite everything, I'm afraid.' He had a shovel in his hand, and
eyed it curiously. 'She has not told you that I am considerably in debt to
various people, and that, not long ago, I was obliged to raise money on our
furniture.'

Miss Shepperson laid down the tea-cup and gazed anxiously at him, whereupon
he began a detailed story of his misfortunes in business. Mr. Rymer was a
commission-agent--that is to say, he was everything and nothing. Struggle
with pecuniary embarrassment was his normal condition, but only during the
last twelvemonth had he fallen under persistent ill-luck and come to all
but the very end of his resources. It would still be possible for him, he
explained, to raise money on the reversion for which he was waiting, but of
such a step he could not dream.

'It would be dishonesty, Miss Shepperson, and, how unfortunate, I have
never yet lost my honour. People have trusted me, knowing that I am an
honest man. I belong to a good family--as, no doubt, Mrs. Rymer has told
you. A brother of mine holds a respected position in Birmingham, and, if