as a boy, a fellow-child; and an instinct, moreover, told her, that more
easily through him than his shrewd-looking bearded guest could she attain
the object of her cupidity,--"three pounds!"

"Three pounds!" whispered Sophy, with the tones of an angel, into
Lionel's thrilling ear.

MR. WAIFE.--"Sir, I will be frank with you." At that ominous
commencement, Mr. Vance recoiled, and mechanically buttoned his trousers
pocket. Mr. Waife noted the gesture with his one eye, and proceeded
cautiously, feeling his way, as it were, towards the interior of the
recess thus protected. "My grandchild declined your flattering proposal
with my full approbation. She did not consider--neither did I--that the
managerial rights of Mr. Rugge entitled him to the moiety of her face--
off the stage." The Comedian paused, and with a voice, the mimic
drollery of which no hoarseness could altogether mar, chanted the old
line,--

"'My face is my fortune, sir,' she said."

Vance smiled; Lionel laughed; Sophy nestled still nearer to the boy.

GENTLEMAN WAIFE (with pathos and dignity).--"You see before you an old
man: one way of life is the same to me as another. But she,--do you
think Mr. Rugge's stage the right place for her?"

VANCE.--"Certainly not. Why did you not introduce her to the London
Manager who would have engaged yourself?"

Waife could not conceal a slight change of countenance. "How do I know