"The fact is, young lady," spoke up one who bore the exterior of a gentleman, "we should not have come down troubling you--at least, I can answer for myself--but his lordship's men of business, Warburton & Ware, to whom many of us hastened last evening, told us there would not be a shilling for anybody unless it could be got from furniture. When it comes to that, it is 'first come, first served,' and I got down by morning light, and levied an execution."

"Which was levied before you came," put in a man who might be brother to the two upstairs, to judge by his nose. "But what's such furniture as this to our claims--if you come to combine 'em? No more than a bucket of water is to the Thames."

"What can I do?" shivered Lady Isabel. "What is it you wish me to do? I have no money to give you, I--"

"No, miss," broke in a quiet, pale man; "if report tells me, you are worse wronged than we are, for you won't have a roof to put your head under, or a guinea to call your own."

"He has been a scoundrel to everybody," interrupted an intemperate voice; "he has ruined thousands."

The speech was hissed down; even they were not men gratuitously to insult a delicate young lady.

"Perhaps you'll just answer us a question, miss," persisted the voice, in spite of the hisses. "Is there any ready money that can--"

But another person had entered the room--Mr. Carlyle. He caught sight of the white face and trembling hands of Isabel, and interrupted the last speaker with scant ceremony.