“Oh yes, the policeman said she drove a very thriving trade, both with the boys and with the sailors, and that there was no doubt that she could pay.”

Clement was very glad to hear it, for it not only obviated any sense of harshness in his mind, but he thought Gerald, in his present mood of compassion—­or opposition, whichever it was-—capable of offering to undertake to pay the fine for her.

Poor little Ludmilla was found the next day by Mrs. Henderson, crying softly over her work at the mosaic department-—work which was only the mechanical arrangement from patterns provided, for she had no originality, and would never attain to any promotion in the profession.

Mrs. Henderson took the poor girl to her own little office, to try to comfort her, and bring her into condition for the rehearsal of the scene with Ferdinand, which she was to go through in Mr. Flight’s parlour chaperoned by his mother.  She was so choked with sobs that it did not seem probable that she would have any voice; for she had been struggling with her tears all day, and now, in the presence of her friend, she gave them a free course.  She thought it so cruel—-so very cruel of the gentlemen; how could they do such a thing to a poor helpless stranger?  And that tall one-—to be a clergyman-—how could he?

Mrs. Henderson tried to represent that, having accepted the licence on certain terms, it was wrong to break them; and that the gentlemen must be right to hinder harm to their nephews.

It seemed all past the poor girl’s understanding, since the nephews had taken no harm; and indeed the other boys had only touched the spirits by way of joke and doing something forbidden:  it had all come of those horrid young midshipmen, who had come down and worried and bothered her mother into giving them the bottles of spirits which had not been mixed.  It was very hard.

“Ah, Lydia, one sin leads no one knows where!  Those little boys, think of their first learning the taste for alcohol in secret!”

Lydia did see this, but after all, she said, it was not the spirits, but the tobacco, which the Dutch and American sailors were glad enough to exchange for her mother’s commodities.  She had never perceived any harm in the arrangement, and hardly comprehended when the saying, “Custom to whom custom,” was pointed out to her.

Kalliope asked whether the fine would fall heavily on her mother.

“Oh, that is worst of all.  Mother is gone to Avoncester to raise the money.  She won’t tell me how.  And I do believe O’Leary’s circus is there.”

Then came another sobbing fit.

“But how-—what do you mean, my dear?”

“O’Leary was our clown when my father-—my dear father-—was alive.  He was a coarse horrid man, as cruel to the poor dear horses as he dared.  And now he has set up for himself, and has been going about all over the county.  Mother has been quite different ever since she met him one day in Avoncester, and I fear-—oh, I fear he will advance her this money, and make her give me up to him; and my dear father made her promise that I would never be on the boards.”