“Oh, Miss Woodstock, mem, there’s a poor young ‘oman a-lyin’ at the Clock ’Ouse, as it really makes one’s ’art bleed to tell of her!  For all she’s so young, she’s a widder, an’ pr’aps it’s as well she should be, seein’ how shockin’ her ’usband treated her afore he was took where no doubt he’s bein’ done as he did by.  It’s fair cruel, Miss Woodstock, mem, to see her sufferin’s.  She has fits, an’ falls down everywheres; it’s a mercy as she ’asn’t been run over in the public street long ago.  They’re hepiplectic fits, I’m told, an’ laws o’ me! the way she foams at the mouth!  No doubt as they was brought on by her ’usband’s etrocious treatment.  I understand as he was a man as called hisself a gentleman.  He was allus that jealous of the pore innocent thing, mem—­castin’ in her teeth things as I couldn’t bring myself not even to ’int at in your presence, Miss Woodstock, mem.  Many’s the time he’s beat her black an’ blue, when she jist went out to get a bit o’ somethink for his tea at night, ’cos he would ‘ave it she’d been a-doin’ what she ’adn’t ought—­”

“Where is she?” Ida asked, thinking she had now gathered enough of the features of the case.

“I said at the Clock ‘Ouse, mem.  Mrs. Sprowl’s took her in’ mem, and is be’avin’ to her like a mother.  She knew her, did Mrs. Sprowl, in the pore thing’s ’appy days, before ever she married.  But of course it ain’t likely as Mrs. Sprowl can keep her as long as her pore life lasts; not to speak of the expense; its a terrible responsibility, owin’ to the hepiplectic ailment, mem, as of course you understand.”

“Can’t she get into any hospital!”

“She only just came out, mem, not two weeks ago.  They couldn’t do no more for the pore creature, and so she had to go.  An’ she ’asn’t not a friend in the world, ‘ceptin’ Mrs. Sprowl, as is no less than a mother to her.”

“Do you know her name?”

“Mrs. Casty, mem.  It’s a Irish name, I b’lieve, an’ I can’t say as I’m partial to the Irish, but—­”

“Very well,” Ida broke in hastily.  “I’ll see if I can do anything.”

Paying no attention to the blessings showered upon her by the counsel in this case, blessings to which she was accustomed, and of which she well understood the value, Ida went out into the Lane, and walked away quickly.  She did not pause at the Clock House, but walked as far as a quiet street some little distance off, and then paced the pavement for a while, in thought.  Who this “Mrs. Casty” was she could have little doubt.  The calumnies against her husband were just such as Harriet Casti would be likely to circulate.