‘Gad! I know that voice,’ said a gentleman in the crowd. ‘It is that girl Rose; good heavens! where’s her home? Oh, there you are, Harry,’ said he, speaking to the manager as he stood at the door watching the brougham as it drove away. ‘You’ve done it to-night, you have! Where on earth does that woman live?’
‘Well, Sir Watkin, I can tell you, but it is no good. She lives with her mother.’
‘And is married?’ he eagerly exclaimed.
‘Yes, to be sure. No, not married, but just about to be so.’
‘Then, I am after her!’ he exclaimed. ‘Faint heart never won fair lady.’
‘It is a wild goose-chase, Sir Watkin;’ but Sir Watkin was off in a hansom, nevertheless, not before, however, our Sal had made an effort to secure him, which effort he impatiently evaded, bidding her ‘go to the d----’ and not bother him.
‘You nearly had him then, old girl,’ said a ragged bystander, in a voice perfectly familiar to her ear. It was the tramp’s chum from Mint Street.
‘You here?’ said she, in a tone which did not express delight. ‘I thought yer was as tight as my old man.’
‘Not exactly; as soon as I missed you I thought I’d see that you did not come to harm.’
‘Thank you for nothin’,’ said the woman angrily.