And if this be done, there can be no harm in my forestalling some of her property, which, under the circumstances of such a settlement, would of course become mine when we are married.


But the squire might leave the property to whom he pleases.


We know very well that he won't, at any rate, leave it out of the family. In fact, he would only be too glad to consent to such an agreement as that I have proposed, because he would thereby rob me of all power in the matter.


But that could not be done till you are married.


Look here, Kate;--don't you make difficulties. If you mean to say that you won't help me, do say so, and I will go back to London.


I would do anything in my power to help you,--that was not wrong!


Yes; anybody could say as much as that. That is not much of an offer if you are to keep to yourself the power of deciding what is wrong. Will you write to Alice,--or better still, go to her, and explain that I want the money.


How can I go to London now?


You can do it very well, if you choose. But if that be too much, then write to her. It will come much better from you than from me; write to her, and explain that I must pay in advance the expenses of this contest, and that I cannot look for success unless I do so. I did not think that the demand would come so quick on me; but they know that I am not a man of capital, and therefore I cannot expect them to carry on the fight for me, unless they know that the money is sure. Scruby has been bitten two or three times by these metropolitan fellows, and he is determined that he will not be bitten again.


George,


Well.


I wish you would try any other scheme but that.


There is no other scheme! That's so like a woman;--to quarrel with the only plan that is practicable.


I do not think you ought to take Alice's money.


My dear Kate, you must allow me to be the best judge of what I ought to do, and what I ought not to do. Alice herself understands the matter perfectly. She knows that I cannot obtain this position, which is as desirable for her as it is for me--


And for me as much as for either,


Very well. Alice, I say, knows that I cannot do this without money, and has offered the assistance which I want. I would rather that you should tell her how much I want, and that I want it now, than that I should do so. That is all. If you are half the woman that I take you to be, you will understand this well enough.


I want you to write to her quite at once,


since you seem to think that it is not worth while to take the trouble of a journey to London.


There is no question about the trouble,


I would walk to London to get the money for you, if that were all.


Do you think that Alice will refuse to lend it me?


I am sure that she would not, but I think that you ought not to take it from her. There seems to me to be something sacred about property that belongs to the girl you are going to marry.


If there is anything on earth I hate,


it is romance. If you keep it for reading in your bedroom, it's all very well for those who like it, but when it comes to be mixed up with one's business it plays the devil. If you would only sift what you have said, you would see what nonsense it is. Alice and I are to be man and wife. All our interests, and all our money, and our station in life, whatever it may be, are to be joint property. And yet she is the last person in the world to whom I ought to go for money to improve her prospects as well as my own. That's what you call delicacy. I call it infernal nonsense.


I tell you what I'll do, George. I'll ask Aunt Greenow to lend you the money,--or to lend it to me.


I don't believe she'd give me a shilling. Moreover, I want it quite immediately, and the time taken up in letter-writing and negotiations would be fatal to me. If you won't apply to Alice, I must. I want you to tell me whether you will oblige me in this matter.


If George wishes to come to the Hall, let him come. If he chooses to tell me that he regrets his conduct to me, I will see him.


What is it?


I'll do nothing of the kind,


What good should I get by going to the old man's house?


Every good,


If you don't go now you never can do so.


Never till it's my own,


If you show him that you are determined to be at variance with him, it never will be your own;--unless, indeed, it should some day come to you as part of Alice's fortune. Think of it, George; you would not like to receive everything from her.


You haven't answered my question,


If I go to the Hall, will you write to Alice?


No, George; I cannot write to Alice asking her for the money.


You won't?


I could not bring myself to do it.


Then, Kate, you and my grandfather may work together for the future. You may get him to leave you the place if you have skill enough.


That is as undeserved a reproach as any woman ever encountered,


If you have either heart or conscience, you will feel that it is so.


I'm not much troubled with either one or the other, I fancy. Things are being brought to such a pass with me that I am better without them.


Will you take my money, George; just for the present?


No. I haven't much conscience; but I have a little left.


Will you let me write to Mrs. Greenow?


I have not the slightest objection; but it will be of no use whatsoever.


I will do so, at any rate. And now will you come to the Hall?


To beg that old fool's pardon? No; I won't. In the mood I am in at present, I couldn't do it. I should only anger him worse than ever. Tell him that I've business which calls me back to London at once.


It is a thousand pities.


It can't be helped.


It may make so great a difference to you for your whole life!


I'll tell you what I'll do,


I'll go to Vavasor and put up with the old squire's insolence, if you'll make this application for me to Alice.


But you'll let me write to Aunt Greenow first,


It will take only two days,--or at the most three?


I thank Providence, Kate, that circumstances make it impossible for me to stay above two days. I have not linen to last me longer.


We'll manage that for you at the Hall.


Indeed you won't do anything of the kind. And look, Kate, when I make that excuse don't you offer to do so. I will stay there over to-morrow night, and shall go into Kendal early, so as to catch the express train up on Thursday morning. Don't you throw me over by any counter proposition.


Eh, Mr. George; be that you?


A sight of you is good for sair een.


I suppose you had better go into the drawing-room,


while I go to my grandfather. You won't find a fire there.


Manage it how you please; but don't keep me in the cold very long. Heavens, what a country house! The middle of January, and no fires in the room.


And remember, George, when you see him you must say that you regret that you ever displeased him. Now that you are here, don't let there be any further misunderstanding.


I think it very probable that there will be,


I only hope he'll let me have the old horse to take me back to Shap if there is. There he is at the front door, so I shan't have to go into the room without a fire.


So you've come back,


Yes, sir;--I've come back, like the prodigal son in the parable.


The prodigal son was contrite. I hope you are so.


Pretty well for that, sir. I'm sorry there has been any quarrel, and all that, you know.


Go in,


Go in. To expect anything gracious from you would be to expect pearls from swine. Go in.


I'll mount you with the harriers, old fellow, and give you a little shooting. Only I won't have you go out when I'm not with you.


Going to Oileymead; are you? It's quite delightful, to see how fond you two gentlemen are of each other.


I think gentlemen always like to go best to gentlemen's houses where there are no ladies,


As for that. I wish with all my heart that dear old Cheesy would get a wife. He wants a wife badly, if ever a man did, with all that house full of blankets and crockery. Why don't you set your cap at him, Miss Fairstairs?


What;--at a farmer!


Give him my kind love. And look here, Captain Bellfield, suppose you both dine with me next Saturday. He always comes in on Saturday, and you might as well come too. And Charlie shall come to set her cap at Mr. Cheesacre,


I shall be happy to come, but not with that object. Mr. Cheesacre is very respectable, I'm sure.


You see, old fellow, there are the rooms, and of course they're empty. But it's such a bore hauling out all the things and putting up the curtains. You'll be very snug where you are.


I shall do very well,


Of course you'll do very well. It's the warmest room in the house in one way.


A beggar, you know; just a regular beggar!


Poor fellow! He only wants money to make him almost perfect,


I had to go and just wish her goodbye you know,


I don't see that at all,


Why, my dear fellow, how foolishly jealous you are. If I were to be downright uncivil to her, as you would have me be, it would only call attention to the thing.


I'm not a bit jealous. A man who sits upon his own ground as I do hasn't any occasion to be jealous.


I don't know what your own ground has to do with it,--but we'll let that pass.


I think it has a great deal to do with it. If a man does intend to marry he ought to have things comfortable about him; unless he wants to live on his wife, which I look upon as about the meanest thing a man can do. By George, I'd sooner break stones than that.


There's no pleasing you, I know. But there's the fact. I went to say goodbye to her, and she asked me to give you that message. Shall we go or not?


I'll tell you what it is, Bellfield. She's nothing to you, and if you won't mind it, I'll go. Mrs. Jones shall get you anything you like for dinner,--and,--and--I'll stand you a bottle of the '34 port!


No, old fellow, that cock won't fight. She has asked me to dine with her on Saturday, and I mean to go. I don't intend that she shall think that I'm afraid of her,--or of you either.


You don't;--don't you?


No, I don't,


I wish you'd pay me some of that money you owe me,


So I will,--when I've married the widow. Ha,--ha,--ha.


She knows a trick worth two of that,


I dare say she does; and if so, why shouldn't I go and dine with her next Saturday?


I'll tell you why,--because you're in my way. The deuce is in it if I haven't made the whole thing clear enough. I've told you all my plans because I thought you were my friend, and I've paid you well to help me, too; and yet it seems to me you'd do anything in your power to throw me over,--only you can't.


What an ass you are, just you listen to me. That scraggy young woman, Charlie Fairstairs, is to be there of course.


How do you know?


I tell you that I do know. She was present when the whole thing was arranged, and I heard her asked, and heard her say that she would come;--and for the matter of that I heard her declare that she wouldn't set her cap at you, because you're a farmer.


Upon my word she's kind. Upon my word she is. Charlie Fairstairs, indeed! I wouldn't pick her out of a gutter with a pair of tongs. She ain't good enough for my bailiff, let alone me.


But somebody must take her in hand on Saturday, if you're to do any good,


What the deuce are you going to do with all this luggage?


Put it where I saw you putting yours when I opened my window just now.


D---- the window. How you do hack that ham about. If you ever found hams yourself you'd be more particular in cutting them.


Upon my word, Cheesacre, you're too bad;--upon my word you are,


What's the matter now?


Who wants your ham?


You do, I suppose, or you wouldn't cut it.


No I don't; nor anything else either that you've got. It isn't fair to ask a fellow into your house, and then say such things to him as that. And it isn't what I've been accustomed to either; I can tell you that, Mr. Cheesacre.


Oh, bother!


It's all very well to say bother, but I choose to be treated like a gentleman wherever I go. You and I have known each other a long time, and I'd put up with more from you than from anyone else; but--


Can you pay me the money that you owe me, Bellfield?


No, I can't,


Then eat your breakfast, and hold your tongue. Now, what do you mean to do with yourself all day?


I shall go down to the quarters, and look the fellows up.


All right. But mind this, Bellfield;--it's an understood thing, that you're not to be in the Close before four?


I won't be in the Close before four!


Very well. That's understood. If you deceive me, I'll not drive you back to Oileymead to-night.


Haven't you seen her yet?


No,


Nor yet Charlie Fairstairs?


I've seen nobody,


Whoever would have expected two gentlemen to be so punctual, especially on market-day!


Market-day makes no difference when I come to see you,


Looking well. Yes, I'm well enough in health, and I suppose I ought to be thankful that it is so. But if you had buried a wife whom you had loved within the last eighteen months, you would have become as indifferent as I am to all that kind of thing.


I never was married yet,


And therefore you know nothing about it. Everything in the world is gay and fresh to you. If I were you, Mr. Cheesacre, I would not run the risk. It is hardly worth a woman's while, and I suppose not a man's. The sufferings are too great!


But I mean to try all the same,


I hope that you may be successful, Mr. Cheesacre, and that she may not be torn away from you early in life. Is dinner ready, Jeannette? That's well. Mr. Cheesacre, will you give your arm to Miss Fairstairs?


I pay my way, and that ought to give a man higher station than being a beggarly captain,--which I don't believe he is, if all the truth was known.


Military rank is always recognised. If you were a magistrate, Mr. Cheesacre, you would have rank; but I believe you are not.


Nasty, scraggy old cat,


And now. We will allow these two gentlemen just half an hour, eh Charlie? and then we shall expect them up-stairs.


Ten minutes will be enough for us here,


Half an hour,


I'll tell you what it is, Bellfield. I won't have you coming here at all, till this matter is settled.


Till what matter is settled?


You know what matter I mean.


You take such a deuce of a time about it.


No, I don't. I take as little time as anybody could. That other fellow has only been dead about nine months, and I've got the thing in excellent training already.


And what harm do I do?


You disturb me, and you disturb her. You do it on purpose. Do you suppose I can't see? I'll tell you what, now; if you'll go clean out of Norwich for a month, I'll lend you two hundred pounds on the day she becomes Mrs. Cheesacre.


And where am I to go to?


You may stay at Oileymead, if you like;--that is, on condition that you do stay there.


And be told that I hack the ham because it's not my own. Shall I tell you a piece of my mind, Cheesacre?


What do you mean?


That woman has no more idea of marrying you than she has of marrying the Bishop. Won't you fill your glass, old fellow? I know where the tap is if you want another bottle. You may as well give it up, and spend no more money in pink fronts and polished boots on her account. You're a podgy man, you see, and Mrs. Greenow doesn't like podgy men. You are very podgy, Cheesacre, and then you so often smell of the farm-yard; and you talk too much of your money and your property. You'd have had a better chance if you had openly talked to her of hers,--as I have done. As it is, you haven't any chance at all.


Now I've told you a bit of my mind, Cheesy, my boy, and you'll save yourself a deal of trouble and annoyance if you'll believe what I say. She doesn't mean to marry you. It's most probable that she'll marry me; but, at any rate, she won't marry you.


Do you mean to pay me my money, sir?


Yes, I do.


But when?


When I've married Mrs. Greenow,--and, therefore, I expect your assistance in that little scheme. Let us drink her health. We shall always be delighted to see you at our house, Cheesy, my boy, and you shall be allowed to hack the hams just as much as you please.


You shall be made to pay for this,


All right, old fellow; I'll pay for it,--with the widow's money. Come; our half-hour is nearly over; shall we go up-stairs?


I'll expose you.


Don't now;--don't be ill-natured.


Will you tell me where you mean to sleep to-night, Captain Bellfield?


If I sleep at Oileymead it will only be on condition that I have one of the mahogany-furnitured bedrooms.


You'll never put your foot in that house again. You're a rascal, sir.


Come, come, Cheesy, it won't do for us to quarrel in a lady's house. It wouldn't be the thing at all. You're not drinking your wine. You might as well take another glass, and then we'll go up-stairs.


You've left your traps at Oileymead, and not one of them you shall have till you've paid me every shilling you owe me. I don't believe you've a shirt in the world beyond what you've got there.


It's lucky I brought one in to change; wasn't it, Cheesy? I shouldn't have thought of it only for the hint you gave me. I might as well ring the bell for Jeannette to put away the wine, if you won't take any more.


Was he here before to-day?


Who? The Captain? Oh dear no. The Captain don't come here much now;--not to say often, by no means.


He's a confounded rascal.


Oh, Mr. Cheesacre!


He is;--and I ain't sure that there ain't others nearly as bad as he is.


If you mean me, Mr. Cheesacre, I do declare you're a wronging me; I do indeed.


What's the meaning of his going on in this way?


I don't know nothing of his ways, Mr. Cheesacre; but I've been as true to you, sir;--so I have;--as true as true. Yes, Mr. Cheesacre,--as true as true. What game is up now, I wonder. They two'll be cutting each other's throatses before they've done, and then my missus will take the surwiver.


Yes. Yes,--there he is. It's so like him. Dear Greenow; dear husband! When my spirit is false to thee, let thine forget to visit me softly in my dreams. Thou wast unmatched among husbands. Whose tender kindness was ever equal to thine? whose sweet temper was ever so constant? whose manly care so all-sufficient?


Have you ever seen it, Mr. Cheesacre? It's so like him.


I saw it at Yarmouth,


That you did not, simply because it never was at Yarmouth. A larger one you may have seen, which I always keep, and always shall keep, close by my bedside.


Not if I know it,


None for me, Captain Bellfield; many thanks for your politeness all the same,


Good night, Cheesacre,


I thought you were staying at Oileymead?


I came from there this morning,


But he isn't going back there, I can tell you,


Oh, indeed. I hope there is nothing wrong.


All as right as a trivet,


I promised mamma that I would be home by seven,


I'm sorry to find, that you two have quarrelled.


Mrs. Greenow, that man is a downright swindler.


Oh, Mr. Cheesacre.


He is. He'll tell you that he was at Inkerman, but I believe he was in prison all the time. I doubt whether he ever saw a shot fired,


He's none the worse for that.


But he tells such lies; and then he has not a penny in the world. How much do you suppose he owes me, now?


However much it is, I'm sure you are too much of a gentleman to say.


Well;--yes, I am. But when I asked him how he intended to pay me, what do you think he said? He said he'd pay me when he got your money.


My money! He couldn't have said that!


But he did, Mrs. Greenow; I give you my word and honour. 'I'll pay you when I get the widow's money,' he said.


You gentlemen must have a nice way of talking about me when I am absent.


I never said a disrespectful word about you in my life, Mrs. Greenow,--or thought one. He does;--he says horrible things. Oh, I can't tell you;--but he does. What can you expect from such a man as that, who, to my knowledge, won't have a change of clothes to-morrow, except what he brought in on his back this morning. Where he's to get a bed to-night, I don't know, for I doubt whether he's got half-a-crown in the world.


Poor Bellfield!


Yes; he is poor.


But how gracefully he carries his poverty.


I should call it very disgraceful, Mrs. Greenow. Mrs. Greenow,--may I say Arabella?


Mr. Cheesacre!


But mayn't I? Come, Mrs. Greenow. You know well enough by this time what it is I mean. What's the use of shilly-shallying?


Shilly-shallying, Mr. Cheesacre! I never heard such language. If I bid you good night, now, and tell you that it is time for you to go home, shall you call that shilly-shallying?


I beg your pardon, Mrs. Greenow; I do indeed. I didn't mean anything offensive.


Shilly-shallying, indeed! There's very little shall in it, I can assure you.


I beg your pardon, Mrs. Greenow,


It is granted, but never tell a lady again that she is shilly-shallying. And look here, Mr. Cheesacre, if it should ever come to pass that you are making love to a lady in earnest--


I couldn't be more in earnest,


That you are making love to a lady in earnest, talk to her a little more about your passion and a little less about your purse. Now, good night.


But we are friends.


Oh yes;--as good friends as ever.


It's only me, Cheesy, my boy. I've just come down by the rail to fetch my things, and I'm going back to Norwich by the 9.20.


If you've stolen anything of mine I'll have you prosecuted,


He must do as he likes. Alice would be the last to expect me to submit to unreasonable ill-usage for the sake of money. As regards myself, I confess that I'm very fond of money and am not particularly squeamish. I would do anything that a man can do to secure it. But this I can't do. I never injured him, and I never asked him to injure himself. I never attempted to borrow money from him. I have never cost him a shilling. When I was in the wine business he might have enabled me to make a large fortune simply by settling on me then the reversion of property which, when he dies, ought to be my own. He was so perversely ignorant that he would make no inquiry, but chose to think that I was ruining myself, at the only time of my life when I was really doing well.


But he had a right to act as he pleased,


Certainly he had. But he had no right to resent my asking such a favour at his hands. He was an ignorant old fool not to do it; but I should never have quarrelled with him on that account. Nature made him a fool, and it wasn't his fault. But I can't bring myself to kneel in the dirt before him simply because I asked for what was reasonable. I have given up drinking wine after dinner,


I suppose you mean that you drink nothing but claret,


I mean simply what I say,


What the devil's the use of your sitting there if you neither drink nor talk?


No use in the world, that I can see,


I don't care how soon you leave me,


Dearest Kate,


I am not going to do what you ask me. You see, I don't know my nephew, and have no reason for being specially anxious that he should be in Parliament. I don't care two straws about the glory of the Vavasor family. If I had never done anything for myself, the Vavasors would have done very little for me. I don't care much about what you call 'blood.' I like those who like me, and whom I know. I am very fond of you, and because you have been good to me I would give you a thousand pounds if you wanted it for yourself; but I don't see why I am to give my money to those I don't know. If it is necessary to tell my nephew of this, pray tell him that I mean no offence. Your friend C. is still waiting--waiting--waiting, patiently; but his patience may be exhausted.


Of course she won't. Why should she?


I had hoped she would,


Why should she? What did I ever do for her? She is a sensible woman. Who is your friend C., and why is he waiting patiently?


He is a man who would be glad to marry her for her money, if she would take him.


Then what does she mean by his patience being exhausted?


It is her folly. She chooses to pretend to think that the man is a lover of mine.


Has he got any money?


Yes; lots of money--or money's worth.


And what is his name?


His name is Cheesacre. But pray don't trouble yourself to talk about him.


If he wants to marry you, and has plenty of money, why shouldn't you take him?


Good heavens, George! In the first place he does not want to marry me. In the next place all his heart is in his farmyard.


And a very good place to have it,


Undoubtedly. But, really, you must not trouble yourself to talk about him.


Only this,--that I should be very glad to see you well married.


Should you?


And now, about the money. You must write to Alice at once.


Oh, George!


Of course you must; you have promised. Indeed, it would have been much wiser if you had taken me at my word, and done it at once.


I cannot do it.


Do you mean to tell me, that you will go back from your word, and deceive me;--that after having kept me here by this promise, you will not do what you have said you would do? Take my money now, and pay me out of hers as soon as you are married. I will be the first to claim it from her,--and from you. That is nonsense. Why should it be nonsense? Surely you need have no scruple with me. I should have none with you if I wanted assistance. Look here, Kate; I won't have it, and there's an end of it. All that you have in the world would not pull me through this election, and therefore such a loan would be worse than useless. And am I to ask her for more than two thousand pounds? You are to ask her simply for one thousand. That is what I want, and must have, at present. And she knows that I want it, and that she is to supply it; only she does not know that my need is so immediate. That you must explain to her.


I would sooner burn my hand, George!


But burning your hand, unfortunately, won't do any good. Look here, Kate; I insist upon your doing this for me. If you do not, I shall do it, of course, myself; but I shall regard your refusal as an unjustifiable falsehood on your part, and shall certainly not see you afterwards. I do not wish, for reasons which you may well understand, to write to Alice myself on any subject at present. I now claim your promise to do so; and if you refuse, I shall know very well what to do.


Surely I must sign some paper,


You haven't heard the news,


What news?


The Marquis is as nearly off the hooks as a man can be.


I'm very sorry for him. Who is the Marquis? There'll be sure to come another, so it don't much signify.


There will come another, and that's just it. It's the Marquis of Bunratty; and if he drops, our young Member will go into the Upper House.


What, immediately; before the end of the Session?


To be sure. The writ would be out immediately. I should be glad enough of it, only that I know that Travers's people have heard of it before us, and that they are ready to be up with their posters directly the breath is out of the Marquis's body. We must go to work immediately; that's all.


It will only be for part of a Session,


Just so,


And then there'll be the cost of another election.


That's true, but in such cases we do manage to make it come a little cheaper. If you lick Travers now, it may be that you'll have a walk-over for the next.


Have you seen Grimes?


Yes, I have; the blackguard! He is going to open his house on Travers's side. He came to me as bold as brass, and told me so, saying that he never liked gentlemen who kept him waiting for his odd money. What angers me is that he ever got it.


We have not managed it very well, certainly,


We can't help those little accidents, Mr. Vavasor. There are worse accidents than that turn up almost daily in my business. You may think yourself almost lucky that I haven't gone over to Travers myself. He is a Liberal, you know; and it hasn't been for want of an offer, I can tell you.


Well, Squire, how is it to be?


This lord is not dead yet,


No; he's not dead yet, that we have heard; but it won't do for us to wait. We want every minute of time that we can get. There isn't any hope for him, I'm told. It's gout in the stomach, or dropsy at the heart, or some of those things that make a fellow safe to go.


It won't do to wait for the next election?


If you ask me, I should say certainly not. Indeed, I shouldn't wish to have to conduct it under such circumstances. I hate a fight when there's no chance of success. I grudge spending a man's money in such a case; I do indeed, Mr. Vavasor.


I suppose Grimes's going over won't make much difference?


The blackguard! He'll take a hundred and fifty votes, I suppose; perhaps more. But that is not much in such a constituency as the Chelsea districts. You see, Travers played mean at the last election, and that will be against him.


But the Conservatives will have a candidate.


There's no knowing; but I don't think they will. They'll try one at the general, no doubt; but if the two sitting Members can pull together, they won't have much of a chance. We should have our houses open as soon as theirs. There's a deal in that.


If the worst comes to the worst. I can always cut my throat.


You have seen the Globe?


No, indeed; I have seen nothing.


Bunratty died in Ireland this morning. I suppose you'll be up for the Chelsea districts?


He was quite content, he said, to vote for the Address, as, he believed, would be all the gentlemen on his side of the House.


He had always, done the gentleman's party justice for their clemency, and had feared no opposition from them; and he was glad to find that he was correct in his anticipations as to the course they would pursue on the present occasion.


A letter has been placed within my writing-case. Who put it there? If such a thing happens again. I shall be obliged to have the matter investigated. I cannot allow that anything should be put into my room surreptitiously.


I am at Matching, at the Inn; but I do not dare to show myself, lest I should do you an injury. I walked round the house yesterday, at night, and I know that I saw your room. If I am wrong in thinking that you love me, I would not for worlds insult you by my presence; but if you love me still, I ask you to throw aside from you that fictitious marriage, and give yourself to the man whom, if you love him, you should regard as your husband.


Though I do sacrifice myself. I shall do more of good than harm, and I cannot be more wretched than I am now.


I hope you are well?


Oh, yes; quite well. And you? A little fatigued with your journey, I suppose?


No; not much.


Well, we have had a debate on the Address. Don't you want to know how it has gone?


If it has concerned you particularly, I do, of course.


Concerned me! It has concerned me certainly.


They haven't appointed you yet; have they?


No; they don't appoint people during debates, in the House of Commons. But I fear I shall never make you a politician.


I'm almost afraid you never will. But I'm not the less anxious for your success, since you wish it yourself. I don't understand why you should work so very hard; but, as you like it, I'm as anxious as anybody can be that you should triumph.


Yes; I do like it. A man must like something, and I don't know what there is to like better. Some people can eat and drink all day; and some people can care about a horse. I can do neither. I spoke for a moment to Lord Brock,


And what did Lord Brock say?


He didn't say much, but he was very cordial.


But I thought, Plantagenet, that he could appoint you if he pleased? Doesn't he do it all?


Well, in one sense, he does. But I don't suppose I shall ever make you understand. But I see you don't care a bit about it,


Don't be angry, Plantagenet. Indeed I do care about it, but I am so ignorant that I can't understand it all at once. I am rather tired, and I think I'll go to bed now. Shall you be late?


No, not very; that is, I shall be rather late. I've a lot of letters I want to write to-night, as I must be at work all to-morrow. By-the-by, Mr. Bott is coming to dine here. There will be no one else.


Mr. Bott!


Yes, Mr. Bott. Have you any objection?


Oh, no. Would you like to dine alone with him?


Why should I dine alone with him? Why shouldn't you eat your dinner with us? I hope you are not going to become fastidious, and to turn up your nose at people. Mrs. Marsham is in town, and I dare say she'll come to you if you ask her.


I thought, of asking my cousin, Alice Vavasor, to spend the evening with me.


Miss Vavasor! I must say that I thought Miss Vavasor--


I hope you have nothing to say against my cousin? She is my only near relative that I really care for;--the only woman, I mean.


No; I don't mean to say anything against her. She's very well as a young lady, I dare say. I would sooner that you would ask Mrs. Marsham to-morrow.


As there will be no other ladies here to-morrow evening, Plantagenet, and as I have not yet seen Alice since I have been in town, I wish you would let me have my way in this. Of course I cannot have very much to say to Mrs. Marsham, who is an old woman.


I especially want Mrs. Marsham to be your friend,


Friendships will not come by ordering, Plantagenet,


Very well. Of course, you will do as you please. I am sorry that you have refused the first favour I have asked you this year.


I know that will be an inducement to you, because your generous heart will feel of what service you may be to me. Nobody else will be here,--unless, indeed, Mrs. Marsham should be asked, unknown to myself.


Have you written to your cousin?


Yes; I have asked her to come and drive, and then to stay for dinner. I shall send the carriage for her if she can come. The man is to wait for an answer.


Very well. As that is settled, perhaps you would have no objection to ask Mrs. Marsham also?


Won't she probably be engaged?


No; I think not. I know she is not engaged.


She expects to come, then?


I have not asked her, if you mean that, Glencora. Had I done so, I should have said so. I told her that I did not know what your engagements were.


I will write to her, if you please,


Do, my dear!


I will love you!


What's the use of it? There's nothing to see, and the wind is as cold as charity. We are much more comfortable here; are we not? If I had Dandy and Flirt up here, there would be some fun in it; but Mr. Palliser doesn't wish me to drive in London.


I suppose it would be dangerous?


Not in the least. I don't think it's that he minds; but he has an idea that it looks fast.


So it does. If I were a man, I'm sure I shouldn't like my wife to drive horses about London.


And why not? Just because you'd be a tyrant,--like other husbands? What's the harm of looking fast, if one doesn't do anything improper? Poor Dandy, and dear Flirt! I'm sure they'd like it.


Perhaps Mr. Palliser doesn't care for that?


I can tell you something else he doesn't care for. He doesn't care whether Dandy's mistress likes it.


Don't say that, Glencora.


Why not say it,--to you?


Don't teach yourself to think it. That's what I mean. I believe he would consent to anything that he didn't think wrong.


Such as lectures about the British Constitution! But never mind about that, Alice. Of course the British Constitution is everything to him, and I wish I knew more about it;--that's all. But I haven't told you whom you are to meet at dinner.


Yes, you have--Mr. Bott.


But there's another guest, a Mrs. Marsham. I thought I'd got rid of her for to-day, when I wrote to you; but I hadn't. She's coming.


She won't hurt me at all,


She will hurt me very much. She'll destroy the pleasure of our whole evening. I do believe that she hates you, and that she thinks you instigate me to all manner of iniquity. What fools they all are!


Who are they all, Glencora?


She and that man, and--. Never mind. It makes me sick when I think that they should be so blind. Alice, I hardly know how much I owe to you; I don't, indeed. Everything, I believe.


That's nonsense,


No; it's not nonsense. Who do you think came to Matching when I was there?


What;--to the house?


No; not to the house.


If it is the person of whom I am thinking, let me implore you not to speak of him.


And why should I not speak of him? Did I not speak of him before to you, and was it not for good? How are you to be my friend, if I may not speak to you of everything?


But you should not think of him.


What nonsense you talk, Alice! Not think of him! How is one to help one's thoughts? Look here. Oh, how I do wish we had gone to drive!


How do, my dear? I thought I'd just come across from Norfolk Street and see you, though I am coming to dinner in the evening. It's only just a step, you know. How d'ye do, Miss Vavasor?


I thought I might find you at home, as I know you are lazy about going out in the cold,--unless it be for a foolish midnight ramble,


The ramble you speak of was very wise, I think, but I never could see the use of driving about in London in the middle of winter.


One ought to go out of the house every day,


I hate all those rules. Don't you, Alice?


My dear Glencora, one must live by rules in this life. You might as well say that you hated sitting down to dinner.


So I do, very often; almost always when there's company.


You'll get over that feeling after another season in town,


Upon my word I don't think I shall. It's a thing that seems always to be getting more grievous, instead of less so. Mr. Bott is coming to dine here to-night.


Mr. Bott is a Member of Parliament, and a very serviceable friend of Mr. Palliser's,


All the same; we do not like Mr. Bott--do we, Alice? He is Doctor Fell to us; only I think we could tell why.


I certainly do not like him,


It can be but of small matter to you, Miss Vavasor,


Of the very smallest moment. He did annoy me once, but will never, I dare say, have an opportunity of doing so again.


I don't know what the annoyance may have been.


Of course you don't, Mrs. Marsham.


But I shouldn't have thought it likely that a person so fully employed as Mr. Bott, and employed, too, on matters of such vast importance, would have gone out of his way to annoy a young lady whom he chanced to meet for a day or two in a country-house.


I don't think that Alice means that he attempted to flirt with her,


Perhaps he did not attempt,


Glencora. I think I'll leave you alone with Mrs. Marsham. I'm not disposed to discuss Mr. Bott's character, and certainly not to hear his name mentioned in disagreeable connection with my own.


Nonsense, Alice,


I hope, Glencora, you do not count me as your enemy?


But I shall,--certainly, if you attack Alice. Love me, love my dog. I beg your pardon, Alice; but what I meant was this, Mrs. Marsham; Love me, love the best friend I have in the world.


I did not mean to offend Miss Vavasor,


She's a nasty old cat. She is. I know her, and you'll have to know her, too, before you've done with her. It won't at all do for you to run away when she spits at you. You must hold your ground, and show your claws,--and make her know that if she spits, you can scratch.


But I don't want to be a cat myself.


She'll find I'm of the genus, but of the tiger kind, if she persecutes me. Alice, there's one thing I have made up my mind about. I will not be persecuted. If my husband tells me to do anything, as long as he is my husband I'll do it; but I won't be persecuted.


You should remember that she was a very old friend of Mr. Palliser's mother.


I do remember; and that may be a very good reason why she should come here occasionally, or go to Matching, or to any place in which we may be living. It's a bore, of course; but it's a natural bore, and one that ought to be borne.


And that will be the beginning and the end of it.


I'm afraid not, my dear. It may perhaps be the end of it, but I fear it won't be the beginning. I won't be persecuted. If she gives me advice, I shall tell her to her face that it's not wanted; and if she insults any friend of mine, as she did you, I shall tell her that she had better stay away. She'll go and tell him, of course; but I can't help that. I've made up my mind that I won't be persecuted.


I did not expect the pleasure of meeting Miss Vavasor to-day. We spent a very pleasant month down at Matching together;--didn't you think so?


I spent a pleasant month there certainly.


You left, if I remember, the morning after that late walk out among the ruins? That was unfortunate, was it not? Poor Lady Glencora! it made her very ill; so much so, that she could not go to Monkshade, as she particularly wished. It was very sad. Lady Glencora is very delicate,--very delicate, indeed. We, who have the privilege of being near her, ought always to remember that.


I don't think she is at all delicate.


Oh! don't you? I'm afraid that's your mistake, Miss Vavasor.


I believe she has very good health, which is the greatest blessing in the world. By delicate I suppose you mean weak and infirm.


Oh, dear, no,--not in the least,--not infirm certainly! I should be very sorry to be supposed to have said that Lady Glencora is infirm. What I mean is, not robust, Miss Vavasor. Her general organization, if you understand me, is exquisitely delicate. One can see that, I think, in every glance of her eye.


I declare I'm very much ashamed,


I shan't apologize to you, Alice, for it was you who kept me talking; but I do beg Mrs. Marsham's pardon.


Is Miss Vavasor going to walk home?


Walk home;--all along Oxford Street! Good gracious! no. Why should she walk? The carriage will take her.


Or a cab. I am quite used to go about London in a cab by myself.


I don't think they are nice for young ladies after dark. I was going to offer my servant to walk with her. She is an elderly woman, and would not mind it.


I'm sure Alice is very much obliged, but she will have the carriage.


You are very good-natured, but gentlemen do so dislike having their horses out at night.


No gentleman's horses will be out, and as for mine, it's what they are there for.


I dare say it's all right,


It is all right. Mr. Palliser has given me my horses for my own use, to do as I like with them; and if he thinks I take them out when they ought to be left at home, he can tell me so. Nobody else has a right to do it.


My dear Lady Glencora, you have mistaken me. I did not mean anything of that kind.


I am so sorry. And it is such a pity, as I am quite used to going about in cabs.


Of course you are. Why shouldn't you? I'd go home in a wheelbarrow if I couldn't walk, and had no other conveyance. That's not the question. Mrs. Marsham understands that.


Upon my word, I don't understand anything,


I understand this, that in all such matters as that, I intend to follow my own pleasure. Come, Alice, let us have some coffee. What a fuss we have made about a stupid old carriage!


This kind of thing won't do long, you know,


I suppose not. Planty Pall won't stand it, I should say.


What can he do?


What can he do? What can he do? You will very shortly see what he can do. He can make himself the master of the occasion. If Lord Brock doesn't look about him, he'll find that Mr. Palliser will be in the Cabinet without his help.


You don't mean to say that the Queen will send for Planty Pall!


I mean to say that the Queen will send for any one that the House of Commons may direct her to call upon. How hard it is to make any one understand that the Queen has really nothing to do with it!


Come, Bott, draw it mild,


Not if I know it. I never drew it mild yet, and I shan't begin now. All our political offences against civilization have come from men drawing it mild, as you call it. Why is it that Englishmen can't read and write as Americans do? Why can't they vote as they do even in Imperial France? Why are they serfs, less free than those whose chains were broken the other day in Russia? Why is the Spaniard more happy, and the Italian more contented? Because men in power have been drawing it mild!


But you can't set aside Her Majesty like that, you know,


I should be very sorry. I'm no republican. I mean no disrespect to the throne. The throne in its place is very well. But the power of governing this great nation does not rest with the throne. It is contained within the four walls of the House of Commons. That is the great truth which all young Members should learn, and take to their hearts.


And you think Planty Pall will become Prime Minister?


I haven't said that; but there are more unlikely things. Among young men I know no man more likely. But I certainly think this,--that if Lord Brock doesn't take him into the Cabinet, Lord Brock won't long remain there himself.


You must have a subject,


It serves her right. She should have married me at once when she said she would do so, and then it would have been my own.


I don't call a man half a Member when he's brought in like that. He can't do what he likes with his vote. He ain't independent. You never hear of those fellows getting anything good. Pay for the article yourself, Mr. Vavasor, and then it's your own. That's what I always say.


Lord love you, Mr. Vavasor, that's nothing! I've had a candidate so mauled,--it was in the Hamlets, I think,--that there wasn't a spot on him that wasn't painted with rotten eggs. The smell was something quite awful. But I brought him in, through it all. And you've done it very cheap, Mr. Vavasor, considering that the seat is metropolitan. I do say that you have done it cheap. Another thousand, or twelve hundred, will cover everything--say thirteen, perhaps, at the outside. And when you shall have fought the battle once again, you'll have paid your footing, and the fellows will let you in almost for nothing after that.


Of course you have heard a debate?


Yes,


Many, probably?


No.


But you have heard debates from the gallery. Now you'll hear them from the body of the House, and you'll find how very different it is. There's no man can know what Parliament is who has never had a seat. Indeed no one can thoroughly understand the British Constitution without it. I felt, very early in life, that that should be my line; and though it's hard work and no pay, I mean to stick to it. How do, Thompson? You know Vavasor? He's just returned for the Chelsea Districts, and I'm taking him up. We shan't divide to-night; shall we? Look! there's Farringcourt just coming out; he's listened to better than any man in the House now, but he'll borrow half-a-crown from you if you'll lend him one. How d'ye do, my lord? I hope I have the pleasure of seeing you well? Of course you know him? I thought you were up to all these things?


Taking the peerage generally, I am not up to it,


But you ought to have known him. That was Viscount Middlesex; he has got something on to-night about the Irish Church. His father is past ninety, and he's over sixty. We'll go in now; but let me give you one bit of advice, my dear fellow--don't think of speaking this session. A Member can do no good at that work till he has learned something of the forms of the House. The forms of the House are everything; upon my word they are. This is Mr. Vavasor, the new Member for the Chelsea Districts.


No general debate arose on the subject which the Minister had in hand, and when he sat down, Mr. Palliser would not get up, though Mr. Palliser would not get up, though That nobleman got upon his feet, with a roll of papers in his hand, and was proceeding to address the House on certain matters of church reform, with great energy; but, alas, for him and for his feelings! before his energy had got itself into full swing, the Members were swarming away through the doors like a flock of sheep. Sire,


I will wait till he comes. It will be easier to speak than to write.


I am proud. No other thing that he could have done would have made me so proud of him. Had the Queen sent for him and made him an earl, it would have been as nothing to this. When I think that he has forced his way into Parliament without any great friend, with nothing to back him but his own wit that he has achieved his triumph in the metropolis, among the most wealthy and most fastidious of the richest city in the world, I do feel proud of my brother. And, Alice, I hope that you are proud of your lover.


And, Alice, I hope that you are proud of your lover! He is not my lover. He knows that he is not. He understands it, though she may not. He is not my lover,


So George has got himself returned,


Yes, he has been successful. I'm sure you must be glad, papa.


Upon my word, I'm not. He has bought a seat for three months; and with whose money has he purchased it?


Don't let us always speak of money, papa.


When you discuss the value of a thing just purchased, you must mention the price before you know whether the purchaser has done well or badly. They have let him in for his money because there are only a few months left before the general election. Two thousand pounds he has had, I believe?


And if as much more is wanted for the next election he shall have it.


Very well, my dear;--very well, If you choose to make a beggar of yourself, I cannot help it. Indeed, I shall not complain though he should spend all your money, if you do not marry him at last. I tell you fairly what are my feelings and my wishes. Nothing, in my opinion, would be so deplorable and ruinous as such a marriage. You tell me that you have made up your mind to take him, and I know well that nothing that I can say will turn you. But I believe that when he has spent all your money he will not take you, and that thus you will be saved. Thinking as I do about him, you can hardly expect that I should triumph because he has got himself into Parliament with your money!


George, I am so glad that you have succeeded! I wish you joy with my whole heart.


Thanks, dearest. But before I say another word, let me acknowledge my debt. Unless you had aided me with your money, I could not have succeeded.


Oh, George! pray don't speak of that!


Let me rather speak of it at once, and have done. If you will think of it, you will know that I must speak of it sooner or later.


Well, then, speak and have done.


I hope you have trusted me in thus giving me the command of your fortune?


Oh, yes.


I do believe that you have. I need hardly say that I could not have stood for this last election without it; and I must try to make you understand that if I had not come forward at this vacancy, I should not have stood no chance for the next; otherwise, I should not have been justified in paying so dearly for a seat for one session. You can understand that; eh, Alice? Yes; I think so. Anybody, even your father, would tell you that; though, probably, he regards my ambition to be a Member of Parliament as a sign of downright madness. But I was obliged to stand now, if I intended to go on with it, as that old lord died so inopportunely. Well, about the money! It is quite upon the cards that I may be forced to ask for another loan when the autumn comes.


You shall have it, George.


Thanks, Alice. And now I will tell you what I propose. You know that I have been reconciled,--with a sort of reconciliation,--to my grandfather? Well, when the next affair is over, I propose to tell him exactly how you and I then stand.


Do not go into that now, George. It is enough for you at present to be assured that such assistance as I can give you is at your command. I want you to feel the full joy of your success, and you will do so more thoroughly if you will banish all these money troubles from your mind for a while.


They shall, at any rate, be banished while I am with you. There; let them go! Let them vanish. It is always well to be rid of such troubles for a time.


I have already taken my seat,


Yes; I saw that in the newspapers. My acquaintance among Members of Parliament is very small, but I see that you were introduced, as they call it, by one of the few men that I do know. Is Mr. Bott a friend of yours?


No,--certainly not a friend. I may probably have to act with him in public.


Ah, that's just what they said of Mr. Palliser when they felt ashamed of his having such a man as his guest. I think if I were in public life I should try to act with people that I could like.


Then you dislike Mr. Bott?


I do not like him, but my feelings about him are not violent.


He is a vulgar ass, with no more pretensions to rank himself a gentleman than your footman.


If I had one.


But he will get on in Parliament, to a certain extent.


I'm afraid I don't quite understand what are the requisites for Parliamentary success, or indeed of what it consists. Is his ambition, do you suppose, the same as yours?


His ambition, I take it, does not go beyond a desire to be Parliamentary flunkey to a big man,--with wages, if possible, but without, if the wages are impossible.


And yours?


Oh, as to mine;--there are some things, Alice, that a man does not tell to any one.


Are there? They must be very terrible things.


The schoolboy, when he sits down to make his rhymes, dares not say, even to his sister, that he hopes to rival Milton; but he nurses such a hope. The preacher, when he preaches his sermon, does not whisper, even to his wife, his belief that thousands may perhaps be turned to repentance by the strength of his words; but he thinks that the thousand converts are possible.


And you, though you will not say so, intend to rival Chatham, and to make your thousand converts in politics.


I like to hear you laugh at me,--I do, indeed. It does me good to hear your voice again with some touch of satire in it. It brings back the old days,--the days to which I hope we may soon revert without pain. Shall it not be so, dearest?


I do not know,


Who gave you this paper-cutter?


Goodness me, why do you ask? and especially, why do you ask in that way?


I asked simply because if it is a present to you from any one, I will take up something else.


It was given me by Mr. Grey. George, your violence is unreasonable; pray do not repeat it.


I did not mean it, and I beg your pardon. I was simply unfortunate in the article I selected. And who gave you this?


It so happens that no one gave me that; I bought it at a stupid bazaar.


Then this will do. You shall give it me as a present, on the renewal of our love.


It is too poor a thing to give,


By no means; nothing is too poor, if given in that way. Anything will do; a ribbon, a glove, a broken sixpence. Will you give me something that I may take, and, taking it, may know that your heart is given with it?


Take the rule, if you please,


And about the heart? Well, Alice, and what about the heart?


I would so much rather talk about politics, George,


Alice, that is not quite fair,


I do not mean to be unfair.


I am not so sure of that. I almost think that you do mean it. You have told me that you intend to become my wife. If, after that, you wilfully make me miserable, will not that be unfair?


I am not making you miserable,--certainly not wilfully.


Did that letter which you wrote to me from Westmoreland mean anything?


George, do not strive to make me think that it meant too much.


If it did, you had better say so at once. Look here, Alice. I find it very hard to understand you. When I look back over all that has passed between us, and to that other episode in your life, summing it all up with your conduct to me at present, I find myself at a loss to read your character.


I fear I cannot help you in the reading of it.


When you first loved me;--for you did love me. I understood that well enough. There is no young man who in early life does not read with sufficient clearness that sweetest morsel of poetry.--And when you quarrelled with me, judging somewhat harshly of my offences, I understood that also; for it is the custom of women to be hard in their judgement on such sins. When I heard that you had accepted the offer made to you by that gentleman in Cambridgeshire, I thought that I understood you still,--knowing how natural it was that you should seek some cure for your wound. I understood it, and accused myself, not you, in that I had driven you to so fatal a remedy. And I understood it well when I heard that this cure had been too much for you. By heavens, yes! there was no misunderstanding that. I meant no insult to the man when I upset his little toy just now. I have not a word to say against him. For many women he would make a model husband, but you are not one of them. And when you discovered this yourself, as you did, I understood that without difficulty. Yes, by heavens! if ever woman had been driven to a mistake, you had been driven to one there. And, Alice, I understood it also when you again consented to be my wife. I thought that I still understood you then. I may have been vain to think so, but surely it was natural. I believed that the old love had come back upon you, and again warmed your heart. I thought that it had been cold during our separation, and I was pleased to think so. Was that unnatural? Put yourself in my place, and say if you would not have thought so. I told myself that I understood you then, and I told myself that in all that you had done you had acted as a true, and good, and loving woman. I thought of you much, and I saw that your conduct, as a whole, was intelligible and becoming. But now your present behaviour makes all the rest a riddle. You have said that you would be my wife, declaring thereby that you had forgiven my offences, and, as I suppose, reassuring me of your love; and yet you receive me with all imaginable coldness. What am I to think of it, and in what way would you have me behave to you? When last I was here I asked you for a kiss.


I asked you for a kiss. If you are to be my wife you can have no shame in granting me such a request. Within the last two months you have told me that you would marry me. What am I to think of such a promise if you deny me all customary signs of your affection?


I wonder you cannot understand, that I have suffered much.


And is that to be my answer?


I don't know what answer you want.


Come, Alice, do not be untrue; you do know what answer I want, and you know also whether my wanting it is unreasonable.


No one ever told me that I was untrue before,


You do know what it is that I desire. I desire to learn that the woman who is to be my wife, in truth, loves me. Well, Alice, am I to hear anything from you?


Not now, George; you are angry, and I will not speak to you in your anger.


Have I not cause to be angry? Do you not know that you are treating me badly?


I know that my head aches, and that I am very wretched. I wish you would leave me.


There, then, is your gift. And there is the trumpery trinket which I had hoped you would have worn for my sake. Alice, when I am gone, try to think honestly of your conduct to me.


Jeannette. I'm afraid those two gentlemen have quarrelled.


Oh, laws, ma'am, in course they have! How was they to help it?


And why should they quarrel, Jeannette? It's very foolish.


I don't know about being foolish, ma'am; but it's the most natural thing in life. If I had two beaux as was a-courting me together, in course I should expect as they would punch each other's heads. There's some girls do it a purpose, because they like to see it. One at a time's what I say.


You're a young thing, Jeannette.


Well, ma'am--yes; I am young, no doubt. But I won't say but what I've had a beau, young as I look.


But you don't suppose that I want beaux, as you call them?


I don't know, ma'am, as you wants 'em exactly. That's as may be. There they are; and if they was to blow each other's brains out in the gig to-night, I shouldn't be a bit surprised for one. There's nothing won't quiet them at Oileymead to-night, if brandy-and-water don't do it.


Why, you silly child, they're not going home together at all. Did not the Captain go away first?


The Captain did go away first, certainly; but I thought perhaps it was to get his pistols and fighting things ready.


They won't fight, Jeannette. Gentlemen have given over fighting.


Have they, ma'am? That makes it much easier for ladies, no doubt. Perhaps them peaceable ways will come down to such as us in time. It'd be a comfort, I know, to them as are quiet given, like me. I hate to see men knocking each other's heads about,--I do. So Mr. Cheesacre and the Captain won't fight, ma'am?


Of course they won't, you little fool, you.


Dear, dear; I was so sure we should have had the papers all full of it,--and perhaps one of them stretched upon his bloody bier! I wonder which it would have been? I always made up my mind that the Captain wouldn't be wounded in any of his wital parts--unless it was his heart, you know, ma'am.


But why should they quarrel at all, Jeannette? It is the most foolish thing.


Well, ma'am, I don't know about that. What else is they to do? There's some things as you can cry halves about, but there's no crying halves about this.


About what, Jeannette?


Why, about you, ma'am.


Jeannette, I wonder how you can say such things; as if I, in my position, had ever said a word to encourage either of them. You know it's not true, Jeannette, and you shouldn't say so.


To be sure, ma'am, no lady could have behaved better through it than you have done, and goodness knows you have been tried hard.


Indeed I have, Jeannette.


And if gentlemen will make fools of themselves, it isn't your fault; is it, ma'am?


But I'm so sorry that they should have quarrelled. They were such dear friends, you know;--quite all in all to each other.


When you've settled which it's to be, ma'am, that'll all come right again,--seeing that gentlefolks like them have given up fighting, as you say. I suppose, ma'am, it won't be Mr. Cheesacre? To be sure, he's a man as is uncommonly well to do in the world.


What's all that to me, Jeannette? I shall ever regard Mr. Cheesacre as a dear friend who has been very good to me at a time of trouble; but he'll never be more than that.


Then it'll be the Captain, ma'am? I'm sure, for my part, I've always thought the Captain was the nicer gentleman of the two,--and have always said so.


He's nothing to me, girl.


And as for money,--what's the good of having more than enough? If he can bring love, you can bring money; can't you, ma'am?


He's nothing to me, girl,


But he will be?


Well, I'm sure! What's the world come to, I wonder, when you sit yourself down there, and cross-examine your mistress in that way! Get to bed, will you? It's near ten o'clock.


I hope I haven't said anything amiss, ma'am;


It's my fault for encouraging you. Go down-stairs and finish your work, do; and then take yourself off to bed. Next week we shall have to be packing up, and there'll be all my things to see to before that.


She can't really like a poor beggarly wretch who hasn't got a shilling,


Is that you, Cheesacre? Who expected to see you in Norwich on a Thursday!


A little bit of private business. I'm not going to be afraid of a woman--not if I know it. Mrs. Greenow is at home,


Oh, yes, sir; she is at home,


Mr. Cheesacre, whoever expected to see you in Norwich on a Thursday?


There's no knowing when I may be in Norwich, Mrs. Greenow, or when I mayn't. I'm one of those men of whom nobody knows anything certain, except that I pay as I go. There's one other thing they may all know if they please, but we won't say what that is just at present.


Won't you sit down, Mr. Cheesacre?


Well,--thank you,--I will sit down for a few minutes if you'll let me, Mrs. Greenow. Mrs. Greenow, I'm in such a state of mind that I must put an end to it, or else I shall be going mad, and doing somebody a damage.


Dear me! what has happened to you? You're going out shooting, presently; are you not?


No, Mrs. Greenow, I'm not going out shooting. I put on these things because I thought I might take a shot as I came along. But I couldn't bring myself to do it, and then I wouldn't take them off again. What does it matter what a man wears?


Not in the least, so long as he is decent.


I'm sure I'm always that, Mrs. Greenow.


Oh, dear, yes. More than that, I should say. I consider you to be rather gay in your attire.


I don't pretend to anything of that kind, Mrs. Greenow. I like to be nice, and all that kind of thing. There are people who think that because a man farms his own land, he must be always in the muck. It is the case, of course, with those who have to make their rent and living out of it. But it don't matter what a man wears if his heart isn't easy within him.


I don't know why you should speak in that way, Mr. Cheesacre; but it's what I have felt every hour since--since Greenow left me.


Mrs. Greenow, dearest Mrs. Greenow; darling Mrs. Greenow, will you be my wife? There! I have said it at last, and I mean it. Everything that I've got shall be yours. Of course I speak specially of my hand and heart. As for love;--oh, Arabella, if you only knew me! I don't think there's a man in Norfolk better able to love a woman than I am. Ever since I first saw you at Yarmouth, I've been in love to that extent that I've not known what I've been about. If you'll ask them at home, they'll tell you that I've not been able to look after anything about the place,--not as it should be done. I haven't really. I don't suppose I've opened the wages book half a dozen times since last July.


And has that been my fault, Mr. Cheesacre?


Upon my word it has. I can't move about anywhere without thinking about you. My mind's made up; I won't stay at Oileymead unless you will come and be its mistress.


Not stay at Oileymead?


No, indeed. I'll let the place, and go and travel somewheres. What's the use of my hanging on there without the woman of my heart? I couldn't do it, Mrs. Greenow; I couldn't, indeed. Of course I've got everything there that money can buy,--but it's all of no use to a man that's in love. Do you know, I've come quite to despise money and stock, and all that sort of thing. I haven't had my banker's book home these last three months. Only think of that now.


But how can I help you, Mr. Cheesacre?


Just say one word, and the thing'll be done. Say you'll be my wife? I'll be so good to you. I will, indeed. As for your fortune, I don't care that for it! I'm not like somebody else; it's yourself I want. You shall be my pet, and my poppet, and my dearest little duck all the days of your life.


No, Mr. Cheesacre; it cannot be.


And why not? Look here, Arabella!


Mr. Cheesacre, don't make a fool of yourself. Get up,


Never, till you have told me that you will be mine!


Then you'll remain there for ever, which will be inconvenient. I won't have you take hold of my hand, Mr. Cheesacre. I tell you to have done. I never saw a man look so much like a fool in my life. If you don't get up, I'll push you over. There; don't you hear? There's somebody coming.


I'll never get up, till you have bid me hope.


Bid you play the fiddle. Get away from my knees, at any rate. There;--he'll be in the room now before--


I beg ten thousand pardons, but as I did not see Jeannette, I ventured to come in. May I venture to congratulate my friend Cheesacre on his success?


I'll trouble you to leave the room, Captain Bellfield. I'm particularly engaged with Mrs. Greenow, as any gentleman might have seen.


There wasn't the slightest difficulty in seeing it, old fellow. Shall I wish you joy?


I'll trouble you to leave the room, sir,


Certainly, if Mrs. Greenow will desire me to do so,


Gentlemen, I must beg that you will not make my drawing-room a place for quarrelling. Captain Bellfield, lest there should be any misconception, I must beg you to understand that the position in which you found Mr. Cheesacre was one altogether of his own seeking. It was not with my consent that he was there.


I can easily believe that, Mrs. Greenow,


Who cares what you believe, sir?


Gentlemen! gentlemen! this is really unkind. Captain Bellfield, I think I had better ask you to withdraw.


By all means,


As it is absolutely necessary that I should give Mr. Cheesacre a definite answer after what has occurred--


Of course. I'll take another opportunity of paying my respects to you. Perhaps I might be allowed to come this evening?


Mr. Cheesacre, let there be an end to this little farce between us.


Farce!


It is certainly either a farce or a mistake. If the latter,--and I have been at all to blame,--I ask your pardon most sincerely.


But you'll be Mrs. Cheesacre; won't you?


No, Mr. Cheesacre; no. One husband is enough for any woman, and mine lies buried at Birmingham.


Oh, damn it!


Let us part friends. Will you not give me your hand, in token that there is no anger between us?


Do think about it again--do! If there's anything you like to have changed, I'll change it at once. I'll give up Oileymead altogether, if you don't like being so near the farm-yard. I'll give up anything; so I will. Mrs. Greenow, if you only knew how I've set my heart upon it!


My friend, think no more of it.


But I can't help thinking of it,


No, no, no. Why, Mr. Cheesacre, how can you bring yourself to care for an old woman like me, when so many pretty young ladies would give their eyes to get a kind word from you?


I don't want any young lady,


There's Charlie Fairstairs, who would make as good a wife as any girl I know.


Psha! Charlie Fairstairs, indeed!


Or my niece, Kate Vavasor, who has a nice little fortune of her own, and who is as accomplished as she is good-looking.


She's nothing to me, Mrs. Greenow.


That's because you never asked her to be anything. If I get her to come back to Yarmouth next summer, will you think about it? You want a wife, and you couldn't do better if you searched all England over. It would be so pleasant for us to be such near friends; wouldn't it?


Mrs. Greenow, just at present there's only one woman in the world that I can think of.


And that's my niece.


And that's yourself. I'm a broken-hearted man,--I am, indeed. I didn't ever think I should feel so much about a thing of the kind--I didn't, really. I hardly know what to do with myself; but I suppose I'd better go back to Oileymead.


I shall always hate the place now, always.


That will pass away. You'd be as happy as a king there, if you'd take Kate for your queen.


And what'll you do, Mrs. Greenow?


What shall I do?


Yes; what will you do?


That is, if you marry Kate? Why, I'll come and stay with you half my time, and nurse the children, as an old grand-aunt should.


But about--.


You don't mean to take that man Bellfield, do you?


Come, Mr. Cheesacre, that's rank jealousy. What right can you have to ask me whether I shall take any man or no man? The chances are that I shall remain as I am till I'm carried to my grave; but I'm not going to give any pledge about it to you or to any one.


You don't know that man, Mrs. Greenow; you don't, indeed. I tell it you as your friend. Does not it stand to reason, when he has got nothing in the world, that he must be a beggar? It's all very well saying that when a man is courting a lady, he shouldn't say much about his money; but you won't make me believe that any man will make a good husband who hasn't got a shilling. And for lies, there's no beating him!


Why, then, has he been such a friend of yours?


Well, because I've been foolish. I took up with him just because he looked pleasant, I suppose.


And you want to prevent me from doing the same thing.


If you were to marry him, Mrs. Greenow, it's my belief I should do him a mischief; it is, really. I don't think I could stand it;--a mean, skulking beggar! I suppose I'd better go now?


Certainly, if that's the way you choose to talk about my friends.


Friends, indeed! Well, I won't say any more at present. I suppose if I was to talk for ever it wouldn't be any good?


Come and talk to Kate Vavasor for ever, Mr. Cheesacre.


I didn't ever think I should ever care so much about anything,


Her mistress was very bad with a headache,


Burgo, look here. You see that she is not afraid of coming,


I suppose she doesn't think much about it,


If that's what you really believe, you'd better give it up. Nothing on earth would justify such a step on your part except a thorough conviction that she is attached to you. Well, if there's to be an end of it, let there be an end of it.


I think I'd better hang myself,


Burgo, I will not have you here if you talk to me in that way. I am trying to help you once again; but if you look like that, and talk like that, I will give it up.


I think you'd better give it up.


Are you becoming cowardly at last? With all your faults I never expected that of you.


No; I am not a coward. I'd go out and fight him at two paces' distance with the greatest pleasure in the world.


You know that's nonsense, Burgo. It's downright braggadocio. Men do not fight now; nor at any time would a man be called upon to fight, because you simply wanted to take his wife from him. If you had done it, indeed!


How am I to do it? I'd do it to-morrow if it depended on me. No one can say that I'm afraid of anybody or of anything.


I suppose something in the matter depends on her?


I believe she loves me,--if you mean that?


Look here, Burgo. I think you were much wronged in that matter. After what had passed I thought that you had a right to claim Lady Glencora as your wife. Mr. Palliser, in my mind, behaved very wrongly in stepping in between you and--you and such a fortune as hers, in that way. He cannot expect that his wife should have any affection for him. There is nobody alive who has a greater horror of anything improper in married women than I have. I have always shown it. When Lady Madeline Madtop left her husband, I would never allow her to come inside my doors again,--though I have no doubt he ill-used her dreadfully, and there was nothing ever proved between her and Colonel Graham. One can't be too particular in such matters. But here, if you,--if you can succeed, you know, I shall always regard the Palliser episode in Lady Glencora's life as a tragical accident. I shall indeed. Poor dear! It was done exactly as they make nuns of girls in Roman Catholic countries; and as I should think no harm of helping a nun out of her convent, so I should think no harm of helping her now. If you are to say anything to her, I think you might have an opportunity at the party.


You can think of what I have said, Burgo,


Have you anything more that you wish to say to me?


I've got no money,


You've never got any money,


How can I help it? I can't make money. If I had a couple of hundred pounds, so that I could take her, I believe that she would go with me. It should not be my fault if she did not. It would have been all right if she had come to Monkshade.


I've got no money for you, Burgo. I have not five pounds belonging to me.


But you've got--?


What?


Would Cosmo lend it me?


I do not know. I never see him. Probably not.


It is hard. Fancy that a man should be ruined for two hundred pounds, just at such a moment of his life as this! You have jewels, aunt;--could you not raise it for me? I would redeem them with the very first money that I got.


I don't know her,


My dear, that's absurd. Half the people there won't know her.


But they know her set, or know her friends,--or, at any rate, will meet their own friends at her house. I should only bother you, and should not in the least gratify myself.


The fact is, everybody will go who can, and I should have no sort of trouble in getting a card for you. Indeed I should simply write a note and say I meant to bring you.


Pray don't do any such thing, for I certainly shall not go. I can't conceive why you should wish it.


Mr. Fitzgerald will be there. I'm sure that he will be there, though nobody has told me.


That may be a reason for your staying away, but hardly a reason for my going with you.


Ah! I thought you would have gone,


It would be contrary to all my habits. I never go to people's houses when I don't know them. It's a kind of society which I don't like. Pray do not ask me.


Oh! very well. If it must be so, I won't press it. I suppose he won't bite me, at any rate. Do you know, Alice, though they all say that Plantagenet is one of the wisest men in London, I sometimes think that he is one of the greatest fools. Soon after we came to town I told him that we had better not go to that woman's house. Of course he understood me. He simply said that he wished that I should do so. 'I hate anything out of the way,' he said. 'There can be no reason why my wife should not go to Lady Monk's house as well as to any other.' There was an end of it, you know, as far as anything I could do was concerned. But there wasn't an end of it with him. He insists that I shall go, but he sends my duenna with me. Dear Mrs. Marsham is to be there!


She'll do you no harm, I suppose?


I'm not so sure of that, Alice. In the first place, one doesn't like to be followed everywhere by a policeman, even though one isn't going to pick a pocket. And then, the devil is so strong within me, that I should like to dodge the policeman. I can fancy a woman being driven to do wrong simply by a desire to show her policeman that she can be too many for him.


Glencora, you make me so wretched when you talk like that.


Will you go with me, then, so that I may have a policeman of my own choosing? He asked me if I would mind taking Mrs. Marsham with me in my carriage. So I up and spoke, very boldly, like the proud young porter, and told him I would not; and when he asked why not, I said that I preferred taking a friend of my own,--a young friend, I said, and I then named you or my cousin, Lady Jane. I told him I should bring one or the other.


And was he angry?


No; he took it very quietly,--saying something, in his calm way, about hoping that I should get over a prejudice against one of his earliest and dearest friends. He twits at me because I don't understand Parliament and the British Constitution, but I know more of them than he does about a woman. You are quite sure you won't go, then? Do,


It is against the whole tenor of my life's way. And, Glencora, I am not happy myself. I am not fit for parties. I sometimes think that I shall never go into society again.


That's nonsense, you know.


I suppose it is, but I cannot go now. I would if I really thought--


Oh, very well. I suppose I shall get through it. If he asks me to dance, I shall stand up with him, just as though I had never seen him before. You'll come to me the morning after,


Your cousin is not going, then?


Alice is not going.


Then you can give Mrs. Marsham a seat in your carriage?


Impossible, Plantagenet. I thought I had told you that I had promised my cousin Jane.


But you can take three.


Indeed I can't,--unless you would like me to sit out with the coachman.


You must know, Plantagenet,


that it is impossible for three women dressed to go out in one carriage. I am sure you wouldn't like to see me afterwards if I had been one of them.


Glencora, I wish you would not use such expressions.


What! not the long and the short? It's good English. Quite as good as Mr. Bott's, when he said in the House the other night that the Government kept their accounts in a higgledy-piggledy way. You see, I have been studying the debates, and you shouldn't be angry with me.


I am not angry with you. You speak like a child to say so. Then, I suppose, the carriage must go for Mrs. Marsham after it has taken you?


It shall go before. Jane will not be in a hurry, and I am sure I shall not.


She will think you very uncivil; that is all. I told her that she could go with you when I heard that Miss Vavasor was not to be there.


Then, Plantagenet, you shouldn't have told her so, and that's the long--; but I mustn't say that. The truth is this, if you give me any orders I'll obey them,--as far as I can. If I can't I'll say so. But if I'm left to go by my own judgement, it's not fair that I should be scolded afterwards.


I have never scolded you.


Yes, you have. You have told me that I was uncivil.


I said that she would think you so.


Then, if it's only what she thinks, I don't care two straws about it. She may have the carriage to herself if she likes, but she shan't have me in it,--not unless I'm ordered to go. I don't like her, and I won't pretend to like her. My belief is that she follows me about to tell you if she thinks that I do wrong.


Glencora!


And that odious baboon with the red bristles does the same thing,--only he goes to her because he doesn't dare to go to you.


Well, my dear, it's better you should know at once what I feel about it. I don't suppose I'm very good; indeed I dare say I'm bad enough, but these people about me won't make me any better. The duennas don't make the Spanish ladies worth much.


Duennas!


I wish he'd keep a separate carriage for her. That would be expensive. Yes, it would be expensive,


Don't look so dreadfully preoccupied,


Dear Lady Glencora, do come in for a moment to my den. We were so sorry not to have you at Monkshade. We heard such terrible things about your health. Oh, yes; we heard,--something about moonlight and ruins. So like you, you know. I love that sort of thing, above all people; but it doesn't do; does it? Circumstances are so exacting. I think you know Lady Hartletop;--and there's the Duchess of St. Bungay. Mr. Palliser was here five minutes since.


We saw Mr. Palliser just pass through,


Yes; he said he should be here,


There's a great crowd. I didn't think London was so full.


Very great.


How very well you are looking. And I heard you had been so ill.


How d'ye do, Lady Glencowrer?


How are you, Mr. Bott? I think I'll look for Mr. Palliser in the back room.


Dear Lady Glencora. Do let me go away with you. There's that woman, Mrs. Conway Sparkes, coming, and you know how I hate her.


I'm going away. I only just came because I said I would. Shall you be late?


Oh, no; I suppose not.


Shall you dance?


Perhaps once,--just to show that I'm not an old woman.


Don't heat yourself. Good-bye.


Well, Burgo, have you been dancing?


There's no knowing who may not reform,


That will do very well thank you, Mrs. Marsham. Pray, do not trouble yourself,


Will you waltz?


I don't think Lady Glencora will waltz to-night,


And why not, Mrs. Marsham? Why shouldn't I waltz to-night? I rather think I shall, the more especially as Mr. Fitzgerald waltzes very well.


Who is that woman?


Oh, such an odious woman! Her name is Mrs. Marsham; she is my bête noire.


He shouldn't have gone away and left her,


But who could have thought it? I'm sure I didn't.


I suppose you'd better tell him?


But I don't know where to find him,


I didn't mean now at once. Do you think it is as bad as that?


I don't know what to think,


I am so much out of practice. I didn't think--I should have been able--to dance at all.


You'll take another turn,


Presently,


Does it put you in mind of old days?


Does it put you in mind of 'old days?'


You must not talk of that,


May I not? May I not? And why not? They were happy days,--so happy! Were not you happy when you thought--? Ah, dear! I suppose it is best not even to think of them?


Much the best.


Only it is impossible. I wish I knew the inside of your heart, Cora, so that I could see what it is that you really wish.


You should not have come to me at all,


And why not? Who has a better right to come to you? Who has ever loved you as I have done? Cora, did you get my letter?


Come and dance,


Won't it be making mischief?


There'll be worse mischief if you don't,


Did you get my letter? Let us go out upon the stairs, for I must speak to you. Oh, if you could know what I suffered when you did not come to Monkshade! Why did you not come?


I wish I had not come here,


Because you have seen me? That, at any rate, is not kind of you. I'll get you some champagne with water in it. I know that is what you like.


Do not get me anything. Mr. Fitzgerald, do what I ask you. For the sake of the old days of which you spoke, the dear old days which can never come again--


By G----! they can. They can come back, and they shall.


Never. But you can still do me a kindness. Go away, and leave me. Go to the sideboard, and then do not come back. You are doing me an injury while you remain with me.


Cora,


I will not have it, Mr. Fitzgerald. I will not have it. Do as I bid you. Go and leave me, and do not return. I tell you that we are watched.


Who is watching us? and what does it matter? If you are minded to do as I have asked you--


But I am not so minded. Do you not know that you insult me by proposing it?


Yes;--it is an insult, Cora,--unless such an offer be a joy to you. If you wish to be my wife instead of his, it is no insult.


How can I be that?


Come with me,--abroad, and you shall yet be my wife. You got my letter? Do what I asked you, then. Come with me--to-night.


Mr. Fitzgerald. I asked you to go and leave me. If you do not do so, I must get up and leave you. It will be much more difficult.


And is that to be all?


All;--at any rate, now.


I will not go. I will not go till you tell me that you will see me again.


I will,


When,--when,--when?


Here is Mr. Palliser. I thought you were gone home hours ago,


I did go home, but I thought I might as well come back for you.


What a model of a husband! Well; I am ready. Only, what shall we do about Jane? Mr. Fitzgerald, I left a scarf in your aunt's room,--a little black and yellow scarf,--would you mind getting it for me?


I will fetch it, and I will tell your cousin that the carriage shall come back for her.


If you will allow me--


I will do it,


I had forgotten her.


Mrs. Marsham has gone home,


Have you seen her?


Yes.


When did you see her?


She came to Park Lane.


What made her do that? What made Mrs. Marsham go to you at Park Lane after she left Lady Monk's? I suppose she went, to tell you that I was dancing with Mr. Fitzgerald. Was that it?


I think, Glencora, we had better not discuss it now.


I don't mean to discuss it now, or ever. If you did not wish me to see Mr. Fitzgerald you should not have sent me to Lady Monk's. But, Plantagenet, I hope you will forgive me if I say that no consideration shall induce me to receive again as a guest, in my own house, either Mrs. Marsham or Mr. Bott.


I will marry you. I will marry you for certain reasons of my own, which in my present condition make it seem that that arrangement will be more convenient to me than any other that I can make; but pray understand that there is no love mixed up with this. There is another man whom I love;--only, for those reasons above hinted, I do not care to marry him.


Think of him, walking into a man's house, with pistols sufficient to shoot every one there, and doing it as though he were killing rats! What was Nelson at Trafalgar to that? Nelson had nothing to fear! looked the whole thing in the face, and told himself that all scruples and squeamishness are bosh,--child's tales. And so they are. Who lives as though they fear either heaven or hell? And if we do live without such fear or respect, what is the use of telling lies to ourselves? To throw it all to the dogs, as Palmer did, is more manly.


And be hanged,


Yes, and be hanged,--if such is your destiny. But you hear of the one who is hanged, but hear nothing of the twenty who are not.


Beastly old idiot! he must have his chance as other men have, I suppose,


A stitch in time saves nine. And I'll tell you what, Mr. Vavasor,--of course I've my outstanding bills for the last affair. That's no fault of yours, for the things came so sharp one on another that my fellows haven't had time to make it out. But if you'll put me in funds for what I must be out of pocket in June--


Will it be so soon as June?


They are talking of June. Why, then, I'll lump the two bills together when it's all over.


Mr. Vavasor;--oh, yes. He had heard the name. Yes; he was in the habit of acting for his very old friend Mr. John Grey. He had acted for Mr. John Grey, and for Mr. John Grey's father,--he or his partner,--he believed he might say, for about half a century. There could not be a nicer gentleman than Mr. John Grey;--and such a pretty child as he used to be!


The prettiest child I ever saw, Mr. Vavasor!


I dare say,


Yes, indeed,--ugh--ugh--ugh.


Can you tell me, Mr. Tombe, whether either you or he have anything to do with the payment of certain sums to my credit at Messrs. Hock and Block's?


Messrs. Hock and Block's, the bankers,--in Lom--bard Street?


Yes; I bank there,


A most respectable house.


Has any money been paid there to my credit, by you, Mr. Tombe?


May I ask you why you put the question to me, Mr. Vavasor?


Well, I don't think you may. That is to say, my reason for asking it can have nothing to do with yours for replying to it. If you have had no hand in any such payment, there is an end of it, and I need not take up your time by saying anything more on the subject.


I am not prepared to go that length, Mr. Vavasor,--not altogether to go that length,--ugh--ugh--ugh.


Then, will you tell me what you have done in the matter?


Well,--upon my word, you've taken me a little by surprise. Let me see. Pinkle,--Pinkle. Pinkle, didn't we pay some money into Hock and Block's a few weeks since, to the credit of Mr. George Vavasor?


Did we, sir?


I think we did. Just look Pinkle;--and, Pinkle,--see the date, and let me know all about it. It's fine bright weather for this time of year, Mr. Vavasor; but these easterly winds!--ugh--ugh--ugh! Perhaps you'll let us write you a line when we have looked into the matter?


I'd rather know at once. I don't suppose it can take you very long to find out whether you have paid money to my account, by order of Mr. Grey. At any rate, I must know before I go away.


Pinkle, Pinkle! Well, Pinkle, was anything of the kind done, or is my memory deceiving me?


I was going to look,


I'm sorry to give your clerk so much trouble, and I think it must be unnecessary. Surely you know whether Mr. Grey has commissioned you to pay money for me?


We have so many things to do, Mr. Vavasor; and so many clients. We have, indeed. You see, it isn't only one gentleman's affairs. But I think there was something done. I do, indeed.


What is Mr. John Grey's address?


Number 5, Suffolk Street, Pall Mall East,


Number 5, Suffolk Street. Perhaps it will be better that I should go to him, as you do not seem inclined to give me any information.


Pinkle, Pinkle. Never mind; never mind.


Mr. Grey,


I was this moment going to call on you at your lodgings.


At my lodgings, were you? Shall I return with you?


If you please,


If you will allow me, I have the key. Will you take a chair, Mr. Vavasor?


No. I will stand up. I have come here from Mr. Tombe's office in the City, to ask you of what nature has been the interference which you have taken in my money matters?


Do you say that you have come from Mr. Tombe?


I think you heard me say so. I have come here direct from Mr. Tombe's chambers. He is your lawyer, I believe?


He is so.


And I have come from him to ask you what interference you have lately taken in my money matters. When you have answered that, I shall have other questions to ask you.


But, Mr. Vavasor, has it occurred to you that I may not be disposed to answer questions so asked?


It has not occurred to me to think that you will prevaricate. If there has been no such interference, I will ask your pardon, and go away; but if there has been such interference on your part, I have a right to demand that you shall explain to me its nature.


There has been such interference, Mr. Vavasor, if you choose to call it so. Money, to the extent of two thousand pounds, I think, has by my directions been paid to your credit by Mr. Tombe.


Well,


I hardly know how to explain all the circumstances under which this has been done.


I dare say not; but, nevertheless, you must explain them.


My difficulty in explaining it comes from consideration for you,


Then I beg that your difficulty will cease, and that you will have no consideration for me. We are so circumstanced towards each other that any consideration must be humbug and nonsense. At any rate, I intend to have none for you. Now, let me know why you have meddled with my matters.


I think I might, perhaps, better refer you to your uncle.


No, sir; Mr. Tombe is not my uncle's lawyer. My uncle never heard his name, unless he heard of it from you.


But it was by agreement with your uncle that I commissioned Mr. Tombe to raise for you the money you were desirous of borrowing from your cousin. We thought it better that her fortune should not be for the moment disturbed.


But what had you to do with it? Why should you have done it? In the first place, I don't believe your story; it is altogether improbable. But why should he come to you of all men to raise money on his daughter's behalf?


Unless you can behave yourself with more discretion, Mr. Vavasor, you must leave the room. It was I who suggested to your uncle that this arrangement should be made. I did not wish to see Miss Vavasor's fortune squandered.


And what was her fortune to you, sir? Are you aware that she is engaged to me as my wife? I ask you, sir, whether you are aware that Miss Vavasor is to be my wife?


I must altogether decline to discuss with you Miss Vavasor's present or future position.


By heavens, then, you shall hear me discuss it! She was engaged to you, and she has given you your dismissal. If you had understood anything of the conduct which is usual among gentlemen, or if you had had any particle of pride in you, sir, you would have left her and never mentioned her name again. I now find you meddling with her money matters, so as to get a hold upon her fortune.


I have no hold upon her fortune.


Yes, sir, you have. You do not advance two thousand pounds without knowing that you have security. She has rejected you; and in order that you may be revenged, or that you may have some further hold upon her,--that she may be in some sort within your power, you have contrived this rascally pettifogging way of obtaining power over her income. The money shall be repaid at once, with any interest that can be due; and if I find you interfering again, I will expose you.


Mr. Vavasor, you have used words in your anger which I cannot allow to pass. You must recall them.


What were the words? I said that you were a pettifogging rascal. I now repeat them.


There is no help for it,


Mr. Jones, if that gentleman does not leave the house, I must get you to search for a policeman.


What's it all about, sir? What's it all about, sir?


That man has ill-used me, and I've punished him; that's all.


I don't know much about punishing. It seems to me he pitched you down pretty clean out of the room above. I think the best thing you can do now is to walk yourself off.


Oh, Alice! that this thing should have come upon me through thy fault!


Dear, dear, sir--this is a terrible affair!


It was very disagreeable, certainly,


Was the gentleman known to you?


Yes; I know who he is.


Any quarrel, sir?


Well, yes. I should not have pushed him down stairs had he not quarrelled with me.


We can have the police after him if you wish it, sir?


I don't wish it at all.


Or we might manage to polish him off in any other way, you know.


What the mischief does it signify, what difference will it make whether I am dead or alive, unless it is that George would turn you out of the house directly he gets it.


I was not thinking of any one but yourself, sir,


You won't be troubled to think of me much longer,


You'll live to be robbed by him, and turned out as naked as you were born. I know you are a fool, about all matters of business;--more of a fool than even women generally are. I want to see Gogram. Do you write to him a line, telling him to come here to-day,--he or one of his men,--and send it at once by Peter.


Don't you think you'd better put it off till you are a little stronger?


What should you do with the estate if I left it you?


I think I should give it to my brother,


Then I'm d---- if I'll leave it to you,


If I were you, grandfather. I would not trust myself to alter family arrangements whilst I was ill. I'm sure you would advise any one else against doing so.


And if I were to leave it to Alice, she'd give it to him too. What it is you see in him, I never could even guess. He's as ugly as a baboon, with his scarred face. He has never done anything to show himself a clever fellow. Kate, give me some of that bottle the man sent. Where did he get the money to pay for his election? They wouldn't give such a one as him credit a yard further than they could see him.


I don't know where he got it,


He has not had yours; has he?


He would not take it, sir.


And you offered it to him?


Yes, sir.


And he has not had it?


Not a penny of it, sir.


And what made you offer it to him after what I said to you?


Because it was my own,


You're the biggest idiot that ever I heard of, and you'll know it yourself some day. Go away now, and let me know when Gogram comes.


I can't eat, and I suppose it won't hurt you if I take my wine at once,


But you should eat something, sir; will you have a bit of toast to sop in your wine?


Sopped toast! why am I to spoil the only thing I can enjoy?


But the wine would do you more good if you would take something with it.


Good! Nothing will do me any good any more. As for eating, you know I can't eat. What's the use of bothering me?


You are a good girl, Kate. I wish you had been a boy, that's all.


If I had, I shouldn't, perhaps, have been here to take care of you,


No; you'd have been like your brother, no doubt. Not that I think there could have been two so bad as he is.


Oh, grandfather, if he has offended you, you should try to forgive him.


Try to forgive him! How often have I forgiven him without any trying? Why did he come down here the other day, and insult me for the last time? Why didn't he keep away, as I had bidden him?


But you gave him leave to see you, sir.


I didn't give him leave to treat me like that. Never mind; he will find that, old as I am, I can punish an insult.


You haven't done anything, sir, to injure him?


I have made another will, that's all. Do you suppose I had that man here all the way from Penrith for nothing?


But it isn't done yet?


I tell you it is done. If I left him the whole property it would be gone in two years' time. What's the use of doing it?


But for his life, sir! You had promised him that he should have it for his life.


How dare you tell me that? I never promised him. As my heir, he would have had it all, if he would have behaved himself with common decency. Even though I disliked him, as I always have done, he should have had it.


And you have taken it from him altogether?


I shall answer no questions about it, Kate. There isn't any good in so much of it, all at once,


Grandfather, would you like me to stay in the room with you to-night? It will be a great comfort to me in my distress, and it will be a satisfaction to you to have seen your father again. not not, that I think her coming will be of material service, but I feel the loneliness of the house will be too much for me at such a time. I must leave it for you to decide, whether you had better be here. If anything should happen. I will send you a message, and no doubt you would come at once.