"Never too late to mend, eh, old man?"
"I hope not, sir."
And yet it is to be doubted whether Mr. Sheldrake was quite pleased at this remarkable change in his servant. He liked to hold a power over a man, and if that power sprung from a man's weakness, or even vice, he was all the more gratified, so long as it did not affect him. There was no doubt, however, that Mr. Musgrave was endeavouring to become a respectable member of society, and that he had, in real sober earnest, turned over the new leaf which Mr. Sheldrake had proposed to him.
On a cold evening in March, Lily and Old Wheels were sitting in their room in the little house in Soho. There was no change in its appearance. The portraits of Lily were on the mantelshelf, and a bouquet of flowers was on the table. The old man was making castors for a little cigar cabinet which he had bought second-hand at a shop a day or two before. He had cut holes in the bottom of the cabinet, so that the castors were almost hidden from sight, and he had devised a false bottom so as not to interfere with the usefulness of the box. His work being done, he put his tools aside, and rolled the cabinet towards Lily, asking her what she thought of it, and whether Felix would not be pleased with it.
"O, then," said Lily, with a faint smile, "it is for Felix. You did not tell me that. I was wondering whom it was for."
"Are you glad or sorry, Lily, that I am going to make Felix a present?"
"Glad."
"I don't know what I should do now without him," said Old Wheels, with assumed carelessness, but really watching Lily's face with more of keenness than his words warranted; "I am so used to his coming in here often, and have so grown to like him, that if he were to go away I should feel quite lost."
"You are more often alone now, grandfather, than you used to be," said Lily sadly and quietly.
"Yes, my darling, when you were at the music-hall I saw more of you than I do now. But it can't be helped, I suppose, Lily, can it?"