"I'll be as mum as a mouse."
"And if things turn out right for the Duchess, we must twist our minds into thinking that they have turned out right for us. It will be dull here without her, but if the love of an old man can make it brighter for you, Sally----"
A little choking in his voice compelled him to pause, and turn his head. The contemplation of this change in his life, now that he was an old man and worse off in a worldly way than he ever remembered himself to be, brought deep sadness upon him. All the dreams he had indulged in of a bright future for the Duchess, some warmth from which would shine upon herself, had faded quite away. But warmth and light came to him from another quarter. A thin arm stole around his neck, and a dark, loving face was pressed close to his. He drew the grateful woman on his knee, and the few minutes of silence which ensued were not the unhappiest that had been passed in the dingy old cellar.
"And now, Sally," he said, kissing her, "what we've got to do is our duty--straight, my girl, as we can do it--and to hope for the best."
[CHAPTER XXV.]
The evening following this conversation, Seth Dumbrick, going out while the Duchess was still at home, watched for her at the corner of a convenient street, and when she appeared, followed her so as not to be observed. It was a fine dry evening, and the Duchess walked swiftly towards the west of London. At the Mansion House she entered an omnibus, and Seth climbed to the top. She alighted at Charing Cross, and tripped over to Trafalgar Square, where she was immediately greeted by a man whose face Seth, being compelled to keep at a safe distance, could not distinguish. There was no difficulty in following the pair; and it needed only ordinary caution to prevent being detected. The Duchess and her companion walked onwards through the Haymarket to Regent Street, pausing frequently at shop-windows, and once they entered a café, Seth waiting for them in the street. Resuming their walk they strolled to Oxford Street, and then turned back towards the Strand. It was half-past seven by the time they reached that wonderful thoroughfare, down which they strolled, until they came to the door of the Strand Theatre. This they entered, and were lost to Seth's sight. Noticing which way they turned, he followed, and asked the price of admission. A gentleman in a white tie, who was standing by the small window where the money was taken, loftily informed Seth that the pit and gallery were round the corner.
"But," said Seth, "I want to go where the lady and gentleman who have just passed through have gone."
"To the stalls?" inquired the gentleman in the white tie, in a tone of surprise.
"Yes, to the stalls," replied Seth.
"Can't admit you," was the rejoinder.