other people. It is so absurd. 'Let dogs
delight,' you know, but not men of the world,
grown up like you and me. There, good
night."

"Upon my word," he said, as he lay his head
on his pillow that night, "this is getting more
and more exciting every minute. It is like a
play. I am almost sorry I gave him that bit of
advice. Poor soul! I shall beat him easily."

CHAPTER XVII. DISCOVERY OF A "TRUE GENTLEMAN."

FERMOR'S days went by tediously enough,
solaced, indeed, by but little company and the
"potted meats" of Mudie, with which he was
victualled steadily. In what was to be seen,
however, from his back window he began to take a
growing interest. Every day there was the same
little scene, which he watched, himself unseen, the
chair brought out, the cushions, the invalid
daughter, with a face that would have been
charming to look on if lit up with the colours of
health, and the grim, rigid father, trying to bend
his stern economy into the gentle offices of nurse.
On him Fermor looked with repugnance. He
was a mere "day-labourer" in manners, but still
even in that class there were the family virtues
sometimes strongly developed. With this salvo
—a sort of apology made to his nicer feelings—
he could indulge himself in looking on, and,
curiously enough, began to find an interest
that increased day by day in the companionship
of these figures—for to him they were no more.
He would have given a great deal to "find out
something" about them. But he could not bring
himself down to the familiarity of questioning
his man, though he knew that the "man" enjoyed
almost the friendship of the "woman" next
door.

On the evening before he went out of hospital,
as it were, a letter was brought in to Fermor, in
a stiff, broken hand, that looked like a bit of iron
paling. "A bill," said Fermor. "How they do
persecute one." He opened it, and read with
some surprise:

"Sir,––I called on you lately about a dog
which kept my daughter awake a good part of
the night. When I waited on you, I assumed,
both from your appearance (excuse my saying
so), as well as from the way in which I have
always found such remonstrances are received by
men, that the mere fact of requiring the dog to be
removed would offend your pride, and that you
would therefore meet me with a hostile and
impracticable tone. I thought, then, the best way
would be to anticipate and prevent, by a sort of
firmness, any such reception.

"The thing was too serious to be trifled with.
I have but one daughter in the world, who, after
a life of roughness and trouble, has become a life
to me. We had thought her in a decline; but
this place has been the first where she has shown
any signs of mending. Naturally I felt anxious,
and spoke more strongly than, perhaps, was
necessary. I see I made a mistake, and that I
was speaking to a gentleman. I have never
apologised to any man, and never shall to any
man, but, at my daughter's request, I beg to
thank you, which I omitted to do, for your so
kindly anticipating our wishes.
                                  "I am, Sir, yours,
                                          "JOHN CARLAY."

Though there was an unpleasant taste about
this, still Fermor was somehow pleased with it.
He turned it over and over. "An original,"
he said. "I said so from the first"—this was
scarcely true—"and yet there is decidedly
something of the gentleman about him" (which,
perhaps, lay in that recognition of the gentleman in
him). "Very odd," he went on, and thought
how curiously true blood thus always impressed
everybody. He went to his little writing-case,
and, on delicate paper decorated at the top with
two letters which seemed to be embracing or
wrestling, he wrote a coldly polite acknowledgment.

                           C.F.
"Captain Fermor begs to acknowledge, &c."

Then he recollected that the other had written
to him in the first person; "an ill-bred thing,"
no doubt, but still, it would look like
"ungentlemanly" insolence to freeze him up with an
answer in the third. "Now," said he, tearing it
up, "that is just what Forsyth, or Showers, or
Cadby, or any of those fellows down there would
do."

He knew better, and began again:

                            C.F.
"Sir,––I beg to acknowledge the receipt of
your letter. I am very glad that the misapprehension
under which you laboured has been
removed. I fancy you will always find that a
true gentleman will be ready to anticipate any
request, so reasonable as the one you made,
especially when a lady's health or wishes are
concerned.
                       "I am, Sir, yours truly,
                                      "CHARLES FERMOR.

In his present condition of monotony, this
little incident was something to think over with
interest. He even read again, pretty often, his
answer to the "day-labourer's" production,
and thought nothing could be more nicely
turned. He even fancied himself speaking
these sentiments coldly and calmly. It seemed
to him the skilful French fencer gracefully
parrying with a frail rapier the rough clumsy
stroke of a sabre. It was all sleight of hand,
and he looked down at his pale woman-like
fingers, and thought how it was that good breeding
and gentility helped them to wield that
social rapier—the pen.

A couple of days later, when Fermor was