Passing into the square, if square the tiny enclosure may be called, at the back of St. Dunstan’s Church, the actress looked up to Wentworth’s window. It happened at that moment he was lolling out of the window, lazily smoking a cigar before he returned to rest.
‘Who goes there?’ he exclaimed as he caught sight of the well-known figure. ‘To what happy circumstance am I indebted for the honour of a visit at this unreasonable hour, or has Ariel any commands for the humblest and most devoted of her slaves!’
‘Of course she has,’ was the reply, ‘or she would not be dancing down here at a time when all respectable people are in bed.’
‘Your angelship has only to speak, and I am at your feet,’ said the smoker with a theatrical flourish, dimly seen, and scarcely appreciated.
‘Well, I am in a mess, and I want your help.’
‘Of course you do; come up and talk it over.’
‘No, I cannot stop a moment.’
‘Well, let me put on my hat, and I will be down in the twinkling of any eye,’ and Wentworth withdrawing himself for that purpose, in another moment he was by her side.
‘I want you to take charge of a boy I’ve brought from Sloville; he is waiting in the bougham outside. He is a little waif I’ve picked up, and I want to save him from going to the bad. Here he is,’ she exclaimed, as she walked hurriedly to the brougham, and then opened the door. Mr. Wentworth, or Ted, as his familiar friends termed him, was not a little astonished at what he saw. ‘What a jewel! Is he not?’
‘Rather a rough one, apparently,’ said the gentleman; ‘but I suppose I must take him. He can sleep on my coal-box, and, perhaps, when the laundress comes in the morning, she will be able to clean him up a bit, and I’ll see what can be done for him.’