conflagration would break out in the night
and engulf their gaudy salons des jeux,
their tables, rakes, devilish engines and
above all their ill-gotten pillage—their
heaps of notes and stores of gold.

Of course a sharp friend, or the smooth
dean, if he heard me, would remind me
about those few bits of silver won the other
night. There are people always ready with
a "tu quoque." I have not the slightest
scruple about that now. I may say I did
it to show my power. I did it of my own
motion. I take it, Mr. Dean, the distinction
is this, and it would do you no harm
for your next sermon. One is tempted and
yields—that is a fall. One does the same
action, not from temptation or yielding, but
purposely, with one's eyes open—that is
another matter, Mr. Dean. I can indeed
smile at myself when in that little trouble
the other night; very natural and excusable.
The poor, at all events, will be able to
congratulate themselves.

A letter from my darling Dora, to whom
I shall write about my little despoiling of
the Philistines. Of course she will look
grave at first, like some of the soi-disant
"good people;" but she could not be
expected to understand the matter. She is
good indeed; nor will I use the vulgar
comparison, significant of a covetous mind,
"as good as gold." My sweet Dora! I
have half a mind to buy her a trinket out
of a few florins of "the winnings," and not
tell her at first until it is round her pretty
neck. No. I suppose I had better let the
poor have every florin that I promised to
them.

How prettily she turns her letters.
There's where a woman's strength is, if they
knew it—nature, simplicity. A little bunch
of violets tumbles out. It has travelled all
the way from Datchley. "I send it to you,"
she says, "to show you that my cough and
cold are quite gone, for I gathered them
myself." Sir Richard Steele could not have
put it more prettily.

There is also an official letter, with the
seal of our bank, which I know very well.
When you are at a long distance from home,
in the midst of a little carnival, home news
are received for the first moment with joy—
then with mistrust. You know what is
coming. It is like the moment before the
ball leaps into its cell. (How these odious
associations cling to me!) It is from Maxwell,
the manager—I know his cruel cold
hand. He writes as stiffly as if he did not
know me. He tells "Dear Sir" that he is
instructed by the Board to require my return,
at furthest, within a week from the receipt
of this note, as they understand I am now
perfectly restored to health. He was
directed to say the Board were a little
surprised at my not showing more alacrity in
corresponding to the very great indulgence
with which I had been treated—an
indulgence which was intended for an urgent
case of sickness, and not to promote amusement.
They must peremptorily insist on
my return by the day named.

Upon my word this is quite a new tone!
And what have I done to merit such
language—the language almost of a Russian
to his serf—language which none of them,
if I were in my old situation of a gentleman,
none of them dare to address to me? In
these offices they are always glad to be
"down" on the gentleman. But there is
something behind this . . . . To be sure.
Did not the dean say he had a nephew or
cousin in the bank whom he hoped I would
be kind to? Ah, this gentleman wants my
place, and the dean has written to him
about me. I have a good mind to throw
up the whole thing, write them back a
resignation, and have done with them and
their bank. What right have they to
assume I am staying here for pleasure?
And the fallacy of it, into which their
dull minds have fallen! They do not see
that this very amusement was the cure
prescribed, and which I came officially to
seek. I have a good mind to let them have
their beggarly place. One hundred and
thirty pounds a year! Why, only yesterday,
I saw four times that sum earned in one
minute! and it will take me just four long
weary years of life to earn that beggarly
sum. That villain Maxwell—this is his
work. He has plotted this; he has never
forgiven my foiling him that time, and
getting away in spite of him. And now I
have to return to submit to his tyranny
and slavery. It was that, I solemnly
believe, that helped to make me ill before.
Well, this is all folly; I must submit and
suffer. After all, how much have I to be
thankful for! . . . I shall start to-morrow
evening; pack up in the morning. It will
be a relief to get away, for I am getting
nervous and excited in presence of these
temptations. And yet I feel not a little
pride, for I have steered my little bark
successfully, on the whole, and have defied
Satan and his works. As for those few
pieces of silver, I can smile at that now. I
shall enjoy myself to-night.

I go in among them once more this
evening, and own to my pet, that so far