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"Father," she said, "will you buy my colours from this bold sporting gentleman?"

As the man fumbled in an inner pocket for change, the lad took a swift inventory. The face, beneath the tall hat, was a powerful oval, paste-coloured, with thin lips, and heavy lines from nostril to jaw. The eyes were close-set and of a turbid grey.

"It's him," the boy assured himself, and opened his mouth to speak.

"So you are a sporting man," the girl rallied him gaily, adjusting the flowers.

The boy nodded, responding instantly to her mood.

"Only," he swept her with shrewd, appraising eyes, that noted every detail of her delicate beauty and sumptuousness, "I don't trot in the two-minute class myself."

The girl laughed a clear silvery peal, and turned impulsively to the young man in evening dress who had just dismissed his hansom and joined the group.

It was the diversion the boy had prayed for. He took a quick step toward the older man.

"N.," he said in a soft but distinct undertone.

The man's face blanched suddenly, and a coin which he held in his large, white-gloved palm, slipped jingling to the pavement.