"Halloa, widow!" shouted a rough voice from below, "where the devil are you?" Mrs. ‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey. " "I didn't want it," replied Jack; "but who are those gentlemen?" "Friends of yours," replied Figg; "come to see you;—Sir James Thornhill, Mr. "Still," went on the manager, "they are slaves in a sense; they are bought and sold until their original indebtedness is paid. “I am a fool,” he said. "My name is Darrell," said the fugitive hastily. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street.
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