‘And how will she get it?’ said Dobbs Broughton.  ’I haven’t a doubt in life but she’d take it tomorrow if she could put her hands upon it.  And then, after a bit, when she began to find that she didn’t like four per cent, she’d bring it back again.  But nobody can do business after such a fashion as that.  For the last three years she’s drawn close upon two thousand a year for less than eighteen thousand pounds.  When a woman wants to do that, she can’t have her money in her pocket every Monday morning.’

‘But you’ve done better than that yourself, Dobbs.’

’Of course I have.  And who has made the connexions; and who has done the work?  I suppose she doesn’t think that I’m to have all the sweat and that she is to have all the profit?’

‘If you talk of work, Dobbs, it is I that have done the most of it.’  This Mr Musselboro said in a very serious voice, and with a look of much reproach.

’And you’ve been paid for what you’ve done.  Come, Mussy, you’d better not turn against me.  You’ll never get your change out of that.  Even if you marry the daughter, that won’t give you the mother’s money.  She’ll stick to every shilling of it till she dies; and she’d take it with her then, if she knew how.’  Having said this, he got up from his chair, put his little book into his pocket, and walked out of the office.  He pushed his way across the court, which was more than ordinarily crowded with the implements of Burton and Bangles’ trade, and as he passed under the covered way he encountered at the entrance an old woman getting out of a cab.  The old woman was, of course, Mother Van, as her partner, Mr Dobbs Broughton irreverently called her.  ’Mrs Van Siever, how d’ye do?  Let me give you a hand.  Fare from South Kensington?  I always give the fellow three shillings.’

‘You don’t mean to tell me it’s six miles!’ And she tendered a florin to the man.

‘Can’t take that, ma’am,’ said the cabman.

’Can’t take it!  But you must take it.  Broughton, just get a policeman, will you?’ Dobbs Broughton satisfied the driver out of his own pocket, and the cab was driven away.  ‘What did you give him?’ said Mrs Van Siever.

’Just another sixpence.  There never is a policeman anywhere about here.’

‘It’ll be out of your own pocket, then,’ said Mrs Van.  ’But you’re not going away?’

’I must be at Capel Court by half-past twelve;—­I must, indeed.  If it wasn’t real business, I’d stay.’

‘I told Musselboro, I should be here.’

’He’s up there, and he knows all about the business just as well as I do.  When I found that I couldn’t stay for you, I went through the account with him, and it’s all settled.  Good morning.  I’ll see you at the West End in a day or two.’  Then he made his way out into Lombard Street, and Mrs Van Siever picked her steps across the yard, and mounted the stairs, and made her way into the room in which Mr Musselboro was sitting.