"Arrah, and what shall we make way for the like of you, you old
busybody?" said one of the dames, turning round, and presenting a very
formidable squint to the broad optics of Mrs. Mivers.

Without deigning a reply, Mrs. Mivers had recourse to her usual tactics.
Umbrella and husband went right between two of the feminine obstructives;
and to the inconceivable astonishment and horror of the assailant,
husband and umbrella instantly vanished. The three small furies had
pounced upon both. They were torn from their natural owner; they were
hurried away; the stream behind, long fretted at the path so abruptly
made amidst it, closed in, joyous, with a thousand waves. Mrs. Mivers
and Helen were borne forward in one way, the umbrella and the husband in
the other; in the distance a small voice was heard: "Don't you! don't!
Be quiet! Mrs.--Mrs. M.! Oh, oh, Mrs. M.!" At that last repetition of
the beloved and familiar initial, uttered in a tone of almost superhuman
anguish, the conjugal heart of Mrs. Mivers was afflicted beyond control.

"Wait here a moment, my dear; I'll just give it them, that's all!" And in
another moment Mrs. Mivers was heard bustling, scolding, till all trace
of her whereabout was gone from the eyes of Helen. Thus left alone, in
exceeding shame and dismay, the poor girl cast a glance around. The
glance was caught by two young men, whose station, in these days when
dress is an equivocal designator of rank, could not be guessed by their
exterior. They might be dandies from the west,--they might be clerks
from the east.

"By Jove," exclaimed one, "that's a sweet pretty girl!" and, by a sudden
movement of the crowd, they both found themselves close to Helen.

"Are you alone, my dear?" said a voice rudely familiar. Helen made no