He had had streaks of fortune, for there had been times when he lay soft and ate delicately and scattered money.

But nothing lasted.

He had no sooner made purchase with a great man and climbed a little than the scaffolding fell from his feet.

He thought meanly of human nature for in his profess he must cringe or snarl, always the undermost dog.
Yet he had some liking for the priests, who had been kind to him, and there was always a glow in his heart for the pale wife who dwelt with his child in the attic in Billingsgate.

Under happier circumstances Mr.
Nicholas Lovel might have shone with the domestic virtues.
Business had been good of late, if that could ever be called good which was undertaken under perpetual fear.