that all husbands are much good when they can't get work or will always
work when they can get it," she added.

"Are many people as hard up as that in Sydney, Nellie?" enquired Ned,
putting down his knife and fork.

"Some," she answered. "You don't suppose a lot of the people we saw this
morning get over well fed, do you? Oh, you can go on eating, Ned! it's
not being sentimental that will help them. They want fair play and a
chance to work, and your going hungry won't get that for them. There's
lots for them and for us if they only knew enough to stop people like
that getting too much."

By lifting her eyebrows she drew his attention to a stout coarse loudly
jewelled man, wearing a tall silk hat and white waistcoat, who had
stopped near them on his way to the door. He was speaking in a loud
dictatorial wheezy voice. His hands were thrust into his trouser pockets,
wherein he jingled coins by taking them up and letting them fall again.
The chink of sovereigns seemed sweet music to him. He stared
contemptuously at Ned's clothes as that young man looked round; then
stared with insolent admiration at Nellie. Ned became crimson with
suppressed rage, but said nothing until the man had passed them.

"Who is that brute?" he asked then.

"That brute! Why, he's a famous man. He owns hundreds of houses, and has
been mayor and goodness knows what. He'll be knighted and made a duke or
something. He owns the block where Mrs. Somerville lives. You ought to
speak respectfully of your betters, Ned. He's been my landlord, though he
doesn't know it, I suppose. He gets four shillings a week from Mrs.