honour," Fermor added, earnestly, "I would
sooner sit down to a mutton-chop—a well-done
mutton-chop—and a pint of sherry."

With this little profession of faith, which he
threw in gratuitously, he sent away his visitor.
Through the day he thought pleasantly over the
prospect, and laid himself out to amuse them by
some new phenomena of his personality. He
dressed himself with effect, set a freshly-pulled
gentleman's bouquet in his coat, and at the fixed
hour he and his ?? ??? ascended the stairs
together, and were announced.

He was astonished to see what an elegant
looking room it was, and to find that the
furniture was not of rude cast-iron, nor of unhewn
wood. Miss Carlay was there, but not as in
the garden propped up with pillows. Almost
as soon as he had shaken hands, Fermor had
started with his graceful garrulity.

"I can see a marked improvement," he said.
"I am not at all surprised. The doctors, you
know, are beginning to send people here. / find
myself better. I am one of those people that feel
every breath of air. In fact, I am an animated
barometer, a human aneroid." As soon as he
entered, Mr. Carlay, in a grim dinner coat cut out
of sheet iron, and new black trousers like short
lengths of an iron water-main, had drawn off,
and was walking up and down at the other end
of the room. In Miss Carlay a faint tinge of
colour, and the manner which is peculiar to delicacy,
made her appear very interesting to Fermor.

They went down to dinner. A small round
table, a little graceful silver, a little glass, as
graceful in shape and pattern, and flowers. No
iron ore, as Fermor had almost expected. It was
surprising. Everything was good and tasteful,
and hot; with a bottle of champagne too, Fermor's
favourite wine. He was much pleased, became
much surprised, and to reward them put spurs
to the ?? ???. "By the way," he said, "I have
a little bit of news, which I dare say will take
you by surprise. Perhaps it is no news, and
perhaps you have heard it; and perhaps, again,
it is not worthy of the name of news, and you
would not care to hear it." He waited for
deserved applause for this ingenious way of
putting the thing, and got it.

The young lady welcomed everything he said;
not indeed with words, but with silence, which
to him was golden, and, therefore, far better.

"I am going to be married," he said, looking
round and smiling.

Mr. Carlay gave a grim and sudden jerk,
which in another would have been a start.
Fermor, who had his eye on the daughter, saw,
to his real astonishment, a flutter—not a start—
and colour. He had had the idea that he was
giving them what the French call "a good
mouth," and that, at the news, there should be
illuminations generally, in all directions.

"Yes," said Fermor, speaking of himself as
of another person, and as if he were helpless in
the hands of some one else. "The thing, I
believe, is appointed for every one, like death—
it is only a question of time. My dissolution
has been coming on a long time: so I only
wrap my robe gracefully about my head, and
fall down pierced with many wounds."

But he could not but observe the confusion
his sudden news had caused. Miss Carlay's
eyes were on her plate, and she was making a
pretence of eating very fast. For the rest of
the time she scarcely spoke at all, and very
early fled away. Her father rolled his eyes
grimly, and gave out a word now and again,
like the sound of rusty machinery in motion.
But Fermor, in great spirits, let his talk
whirl round like the fly-wheel of an engine; and
perhaps the name of that fly-wheel was the
?? ???.

He said afterwards he never had such a
dreadful duty cast on him as the struggling
against the sense of that oppressive man, who
would not talk. "I might as well have been in
a room by myself," he said to Young Brett,
"speaking to the épergne. Such a moody
soul as it was." Finally, Mr. Carlay pushed
back his chair roughly, and got up.

"Ah, join the ladies," said Fermor, washing
his fingers, "or lady, eh?"

"We have ways of our own here," said the
other, standing at the door. "We are early
persons. We don't join the ladies, or carry out
that sort of thing. My daughter is not nearly
strong enough, so you will excuse us, please."

In fact, at that moment a maid came down
with a message. Miss Carlay was not very
well, and could not appear again. "You see,"
said Mr. Carlay, now in the hall. "We are not
suited for company and its forms, and must take
our chance of being considered behind the times.
So—"

He had opened the hall door. Fermor felt
himself, in fact, morally taken by the shoulders
and put out. He went down the steps chafing.
"This is but the usual thing," he said. "I
own I deserve it. This comes of going down
into a lower rank." Still, it was a grateful subject
to think how oddly the news of his "happiness"
had been received. That poor, soft,good-
natured girl—it did seem as if it had overwhelmed
her. As for her father, he was a common ploughman;
but while he gave him up to the sword,
he would mark a white cross on her door. In
fact, he would go in and see her in the morning,
encourage her, smoothe her soft hair (morally
speaking), and console her.

The next morning, which was sunny and without
a breath of air abroad, he looked out from
his back window. The usual picture was not
to be seen: neither the young girl, nor the
armchair, nor the pillows, nor the maid holding the
parasol like an Indian servant. Later in the
day, he set his decorators and upholsterers to
work, fitted himself up with great nicety, and
went in to call. He had not lectured on Roger
le Garçon for a long time.

"Miss Carlay in?" he said, almost passing
the servant, as a matter of course. But he was
told "No." (This maid was not of the class
who thought him "a lovely young man.") He
retired much disgusted, and took down all his
fine hangings and upholstery. Two days after he