’Bowles keeps all that to himself, does he?  We’d better have our talk out, Jane, now that we’ve begun.  Better tell me all you know, my girl.’

Again there was a long pause; but Mr. Lott had patience, and his dogged persistency at length overcame the wife’s pride.  Yes, it was true that Bowles had lost money at races; he had been guilty of much selfish folly; but the ruin it had brought upon him would serve as a lesson.  He was a wretched and a penitent man; a few days ago he had confessed everything to his wife, and besought her to pardon him; at present he was making desperate efforts to recover an honest footing.  The business might still be carried on if some one could be induced to put a little capital into it; with that in view, Bowles had gone to see certain relatives of his in the north.  If his hope failed, she did not know what was before them; they had nothing left now but their clothing and the furniture of one or two rooms.

‘Would you like to come back home for a while?’ asked Mr. Lott abruptly.

‘No, father,’ was the not less abrupt reply.  ‘I couldn’t do that.’

‘I’ll give no money to Bowles.’

‘He has never asked you, and never will.’

Mr. Lott glared and glowered, but, with all that, had something in his face which hinted softness.  The dialogue did not continue much longer; it ended with a promise from Mrs. Bowles to let her father know whether her husband succeeded or not in re-establishing himself.  Thereupon they shook hands without a word, and Mr. Lott left the house.  He returned to the City, and, it being now nearly two o’clock, made a hearty meal.  When he was in the street again, he remembered the birthday present he wished to buy for his nephew, and for half an hour he rambled vaguely, staring into shop-windows.  At length something caught his eye; it was a row of riding-whips, mounted in silver; just the thing, he said to himself, to please a lad who would perhaps ride to hounds next winter.  He stepped in, chose carefully, and made the purchase.  Then, having nothing left to do, he walked at a leisurely pace towards the railway station.

Mr. Daffy was there before him; they met at the entrance to the platform from which their train would start.

‘Must you go back by this?’ asked the tailor.  ’My son wasn’t at home, and won’t be till about five o’clock.  I should be terribly obliged, Mr. Lott, if you could stay and go to Clapham with me.  Is it asking too much?’

The timber-merchant gave a friendly nod, and said it was all the same to him.  Then, in reply to anxious questions, he made brief report of what he had learnt at Finsbury Park.  Mr. Daffy was beside himself with wrath and shame.  He would pay every farthing, if he had to sell all he possessed!

’I’m so glad and so thankful you will come with me Mr. Lott.  He’d care nothing for what I said; but when he sees you, and hears your opinion of him, it may have some effect.  I beg you to tell him your mind plainly!  Let him know what a contemptible wretch, what a dirty blackguard, he is in the eyes of all decent folk—­let him know it, I entreat you!  Perhaps even yet it isn’t too late to make him ashamed of himself.’