gathered up a roll of papers from the hall table, and withdrew before he could obtain a glimpse of her face.
“What impostor have you been feeing now?” he asked, as the young lady entered the room, holding in her hand several cheap French engravings.
“No impostor, my dear sir, but a most interesting woman.”
“Oh, I dare say she was very interesting and interested too, no doubt; but how do you know she was no swindler?”
“Because she shed tears, real tears.”
“Humph! I suppose she put her handkerchief to her eyes and snivelled.”
“No, indeed, I saw the big drops roll down her cheeks, and I never can doubt such an evidence of genuine sorrow; people can’t force tears.”
“What story could she tell which was worth five dollars?”
“Her husband, who was an importer of French stationary and engravings, has recently died insolvent, leaving her burdened with the support of two children and an infirm mother. His creditors have seized everything, excepting a few unsaleable prints, by the sale of which she is now endeavouring to maintain herself independently.”
“Are the prints worth anything?”
“Not much.”
“Then she is living upon charity quite as much as if she begged from door to door; it is only a new method of levying contributions upon people with more money than brains.”
“The truth of her statement is easily ascertained. I have promised to visit her, and if I find her what she seems, I shall supply her with employment as a seamstress.”
“Will you allow me to accompany you on your visit?”
“Certainly, my dear sir, upon condition that if you find her story true, you will pay the penalty of your mistrust in the shape of a goodly donation.”
“Agreed! I’ll pay if she turns out to be an object of charity. But that voice of hers,—I don’t believe there are two such voices in this great city.”
