It was what is called by people on the continent a
“London day.” A thin, gray mist drizzled down
through the smoke which darkened the long cavern
of Fleet street; the sidewalks were slippery and clammy;
the drays slid from side to side on the greasy
pavement, creating a perpetual clamor among the
lighter carriages with which they came in contact;
the porters wondered that “gemmen” would carry
their umbrellas up when there was no rain, and the
gentlemen wondered that porters should be permitted
on the sidewalks; there were passengers in box-coats,
though it was the first of May, and beggars with bare
breasts, though it was chilly as November; the boys
were looking wistfully into the hosier's windows who
were generally at the pastry-cook's; and there were
persons who wished to know the time, trying in vain
to see the dial of St. Paul's through the gamboge atmosphere.

It was twelve o'clock, and a plain chariot with a
simple crest on the panels, slowly picked its way
through the choked and disputed thoroughfare east
of Temple Bar. The smart glazed hat of the coachman,
the well-fitted drab greatcoat and gaiters of the
footman, and the sort of half-submissive, half-contemptuous
look on both their faces (implying that they
were bound to drive to the devil if it were miladi's orders,
but that the rabble of Fleet street was a leetle too
vulgar for their contact), expressed very plainly that
the lady within was a denizen of a more privileged
quarter, but had chosen a rainy day for some compulsory
visit to “the city.”

At the rate of perhaps a mile an hour, the well-groomed
night-horses (a pair of smart, hardy, twelvemile
cabs, all bottom, but little style, kept for nightwork
and forced journeys) had threaded the tortuous
entrails of London, and had arrived at the arch of a
dark court in Throgmorton street. The coachman
put his wheels snug against the edge of the sidewalk,
to avoid being crushed by the passing drays, and settled
his many-caped benjamin about him; while the
footman spread his umbrella, and making a balustrade
of his arm for his mistress's assistance, a closely-veiled
lady descended and disappeared up the wet and ill-paved
avenue.

The green-baize door of Firkins and Co. opened on
its silent hinges and admitted the mysterious visiter,
who, inquiring of the nearest clerk if the junior partner
were in, was shown to a small inner room containing
a desk, two chairs, a coal fire, and a young gentleman.
The last article of furniture rose on the lady's
entrance, and as she threw off her veil he made a low
bow, with the air of a gentleman, who is neither surprised
nor embarrassed, and pushing aside the doorcheck,
they were left alone.

There was that forced complaisance in the lady's
manner on her first entrance, which produced the
slightest possible elevation in a very scornful lip owned
by the junior partner, but the lady was only forty-five,
highborn, and very handsome, and as she looked at
the fine specimen of nature's nobility, who met her
with a look as proud and yet as gentle as her own, the
smoke of Fleet street passed away from her memory,
and she became natural and even gracious. The
effect upon the junior partner was simply that of removing
from his breast the shade of her first impression.

“I have brought you,” said his visiter, drawing a
card from her reticule, “an invitation to the dutchess
of Hautaigle's ball. She sent me half a dozen to fill
up for what she calls `ornamentals'—and I am sure I
shall scarce find another who comes so decidedly under
her grace's category.”

The fair speaker had delivered this pretty speech
in the sweetest and best-bred tone of St. James's,
looking the while at the toe of the small brodequin
which she held up to the fire—perhaps thinking only
of drying it. As she concluded her sentence, she
turned to her companion for an answer, and was surprised
at the impassive politeness of his bow of acknowledgment.

“I regret that I shall not be able to avail myself of
your ladyship's kindness,” said the junior partner, in
the same well-enunciated tone of courtesy.

“Then,” replied the lady with a smile, “Lord Augustus
Fitz-Moi, who looks at himself all dinner-time
in a spoon, will be the Apollo of the hour. What a
pity such a handsome creature should be so vain!—
By-the-way, Mr. Firkins, you live without a looking-glass,
I see.”

“Your ladyship reminds me that this is merely a
place of business. May I ask at once what errand
has procured me the honor of a visit on so unpleasant
a day?”

A slight flush brightened the cheek and forehead
of the beautiful woman, as she compressed her lips,
and forced herself to say with affected ease, “The
want of five hundred pounds.”

The junior partner paused an instant, while the lady
tapped with her boot upon the fender in ill-dissembled
anxiety, and then, turning to his desk, he filled up the

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check without remark, presented it, and took his hat
to wait on her to her carriage. A gleam of relief and
pleasure shot over her countenance as she closed her
small jewelled hand over it, followed immediately by a
look of embarrassed inquiry into the face of the unquestioning
banker.

“I am in your debt already.”

“Thirty thousand pounds, madam!”

“And for this you think the securities on the estate
of Rockland—”

“Are worth nothing, madam! But it rains. I regret
that your ladyship's carriage can not come to the
door. In the old-fashioned days of sedan-chairs, now,
the dark courts of Lothbury must have been more attractive.
By-the-way, talking of Lothbury, there is
Lady Roseberry's fête champétre next week. If you
should chance to have a spare card—”

“Twenty, if you like—I am too happy—really, Mr.
Firkins—”

“It's on the fifteenth; I shall have the honor of
seeing your ladyship there! Good-morning! Home,
coachman!”

“Does this man love me?” was Lady Ravelgold's
first thought, as she sank back in her returning chariot.
“Yet no! he was even rude in his haste to be
rid of me. And I would willingly have stayed too, for
there is something about him of a mark that I like.
Ay, and he must have seen it—a lighter encouragement
has been interpreted more readily. Five hundred
pounds!—really five hundred pounds! And thirty
thousand at the back of it! What does he mean?
Heavens! if he should be deeper than I thought! If
he should wish to involve me first!”

And spite of the horror with which the thought was
met in the mind of Lavy Ravelgold, the blush over
her forehead died away into a half smile and a brighter
tint in her lips; and as the carriage wound slowly
on through the confused press of Fleet street and the
Strand, the image of the handsome and haughty young
banker shut her eyes from all sounds without, and she
was at her own door in Grosvenor square before she
had changed position or wandered half a moment from
the subject of those busy dreams.