‘There’s Alma and her father back,’ said Mrs. Warbeck.  ’I didn’t think they’d come back so soon; they’ve been with some new friends of ours.’  Thomas jumped up.

’I can’t—­I’d rather not see them, please, Mrs. Warbeck.  Can you prevent it?’ His voice startled her somewhat, and she hesitated.  A gesture of entreaty sent her from the room.  As the door opened Alma was heard laughing merrily; then came silence.  In a minute or two the hostess returned and the visitor, faltering, ‘Thank you.  I quite understand,’ quietly left the house.

For three weeks he crossed and recrossed Blackfriars Bridge without meeting Mr. Warbeck.  His look was perhaps graver, his movements less alert, but he had not noticeably changed; his life kept its wonted tenor.  The florid-nosed gentleman at length came face to face with him on Ludgate Hill in the dinner-hour—­an embarrassment to both.  Speedily recovering self-possession Mr. Warbeck pressed the clerk’s hand with fervour and drew him aside.

’I’ve been wanting to see you, Tom.  So you keep away from us, do you?  I understand.  The old lady has given me a quiet hint.  Well, well, you’re quite right, and I honour you for it, Tom.  Nothing selfish about you; you keep it all to yourself; I honour you for it, my dear boy.  And perhaps I had better tell you, Alma is to be married in January.  After that, same as before, won’t it be?—­Have a glass of wine with me?  No time?  We must have a quiet dinner together some evening; one of the old chop houses.—­There was something else I wanted to speak about, but I see you’re in a hurry.  All right, it’ll do next time.’

He waved his hand and was gone.  When next they encountered Mr. Warbeck made bold to borrow ten shillings, without the most distant allusion to his outstanding debt.

Thomas Bird found comfort in the assurance that Mrs. Warbeck had kept her secret as the borrower kept his.

Alma’s father was not utterly dishonoured in his sight.

One day in January, Thomas, pleading indisposition, left work at twelve.  He had a cold and a headache, and felt more miserable than at any time since his school-days.  As he rode home in an omnibus Mr. and Mrs. Warbeck were entertaining friends at the wedding-breakfast, and Thomas knew it.  For an hour or two in the afternoon he sat patiently under his landlady’s talk, but a fit of nervous exasperation at length drove him forth, and he did not return till supper-time.  Just as he sat down to a basin of gruel, Mrs. Batty admitted a boy who brought him a message.  ’Mother sent me round, Mr. Bird,’ said the messenger, ’and she wants to know if you could just come and see her; it’s something about father.  He had some work to do, but he hasn’t come home to do it.’

Without speaking Thomas equipped himself and walked a quarter of a mile to the lodgings of a married friend of his—­a clerk chronically out of work, and too often in liquor.  The wife received him with tears.  After eight weeks without earning a penny, her husband had obtained the job of addressing five hundred envelopes, to be done at home and speedily.  Tempted forth by an acquaintance ‘for half a minute’ as he sat down to the task, he had been absent for three hours, and would certainly return unfit for work.