She went to a shop near and got a bun and glass of milk, and waited till she was ashamed to wait any longer, and then she walked about the streets till three o'clock.

At the stroke of the hour she returned, and was shown into the manager's private room, where a dry, unsympathetic looking little man was sitting before a big book.

It was not the same man whom Augusta had met before, and her heart sank proportionately.
What followed need not be repeated here.

The manager listened to her faltering tale with a few stereotyped expressions of sympathy, and, when she had done, "regretted" that speculative loans were contrary to the custom of the bank, and politely bowed her out.
It was nearly four o'clock upon a damp, drizzling afternoon--a November afternoon--that hung like a living misery over the black slush of the Birmingham streets, and would in itself have sufficed to bring the lightest hearted, happiest mortal to the very gates of despair, when Augusta, wet, wearied, and almost crying, at last entered the door of their little sitting-room.

She entered very quietly, for the maid-of-all-work had met her in the passage and told her that Miss Jeannie was asleep.