Cuningham, who had been making money with some rapidity of late, was displaying before the half-sympathetic, half-sarcastic eyes of Watson, some presents that he was just sending off to his mother and sisters in Scotland.

A white dress, a lace shawl, some handkerchiefs, a sash, a fan--there they lay, ranged on brown paper on the studio floor.

Cuningham was immensely proud of them, and had been quite ready to show them to Fenwick also, fingering their fresh folds, enlarging on their beauties.

And Fenwick had thought sorely of Phoebe as he watched Cuningham turn the pretty things over.

When had he ever been able to give her any feminine gauds?
Always this damned poverty, pressing them down! But now--by Jove!-- He made the hansom stop, rushed into Peter Robinson's, bought a dress-length of pink-and-white cotton, a blue sash for Carrie, and a fichu of Indian muslin and lace.