suppose, like myself," he added, getting up. "I
never had a chance from the beginning."

"Plenty, sir," said Mrs. Tilney, "if you had
used them properly. I am disgusted."

"Well," he said, with a dismal ruefulness, "I
suppose I must weather on somehow. Begin
again, perhaps. There's nothing wonderful in it,
after all. It has happened to plenty more before
my time. But now leave it. I don't want to
talk of it any more. What's been doing? What's
been going on?"

No one answered him, and he looked from
one to the other with a poor affectation of
being at his ease, which Mr. Tillotson felt pity
for.

"You must cheer up, Mr. Ross," he said,
good naturedly, and going up to him. "It may
not be so bad as reported. Things may turn out
better. Don't be cast down."

Mr. Ross looked at him from his foot up to
his head.

"Have you seen the letter that came to me
tonight? No, I should say not," he said, with a
sneer. But he checked himself, and added, in a
softer tone, "No, the thing is about as bad and
as settled as it can be."

Then Ada spoke, in a low voice. "It may be
as Mr. Tillotson says. We must all hope for the
best. Don't be cast down—don't, William. It's
not so great a blow, after all." And she came
up to him with a soft imploring look.

"Why don't you say, While there's Life there's
Hope, or some other amiable platitude? Good
gracious! What are you all looking at me in
this way for? Is a man that has got a letter
such a wonder? You are all delightful
comforters. I'll not stay here any longer. I'll go
back to the mess." And he rose up in a rage,
and walked hastily out.

Mr. Tillotson followed him. "Excuse me
for one moment," he said. "Look here, Mr.
Ross. I fear you do not understand, but I mean
you well—I do indeed. If I can be of any
service in this misfortune, I hope you will only
show me the way. Recollect, you have some
claim on me for an unfortunate mistake I fell
into."

For a moment there was a softened expression
in Ross's face, but only for a moment. This was
an unlucky allusion. There was a cold stiff iron
bar of pride that ran through his frame from his
head to his heel.

"You are very good," he said, coldly. "But
I want no assistance. I have remarked, since
you came here, you have been kind enough to be
making me these sort of offers. What interest,
might I ask, have you got in me? Is it for my
own pure merits? I have not been in the world
so short a time as to believe that. And as for
what you allude to about——"

"Well, I don't care telling you," said the
other, eagerly, "that it is for the sake of another,
who I can see is a little interested in you."

"Ah, I thought so. Now we have it. Then
let me tell you, Mr. Tillotson, great banker as
you are, I have seen your game from the beginning.
I know what you are staying here and
coming here for, with such benevolent and
sympathising looks. I suppose you want to
make capital, as you do out of the Funds, with
this grand pity and generosity. An excellent
dodge. This suit of mine has fallen in capitally,
I suppose, with your plans. But look here, Mr.
Tillotson the banker," he added, raising his
voice. "I may have to go away, I suppose—
somewhere—I don't care where. But I shall be
watching you wherever I am. You are counting
on my being beaten in this. But I give you
warning. If I am, some one shall suffer! I
am not a man to stand these tricks, and I give
you notice——"

There was a rustle of a dress close beside
them, and there was a sweet voice too. "Oh, for
shame! for shame!" it said. "I could not believe
this of you! I begin to think you are unworthy
of all pity, kindness, generosity. Mr. Tillotson,
say no more to him. I am grieved, I am shocked,
that your goodness should have exposed you to
this; but I had thought that this—this man—
had some feeling in him. But I begin now to
see what he is."

He looked from one to the other with a look
of impatient fury. "So this is what you are
beginning to think?" he said. "I don't care
who thinks that I have feeling or not. I want
no compliments in that way as to thinking well
or ill of me. You are both in a charming
partnership. Not that I mind, indeed. Good night
to you both."

The feeling in his listeners was, that this was
mere insanity—his eyes were so wild—and that
common shape of insanity that comes from a
furious struggle of such passions as contempt,
disappointment, rage, and pride.

The eyes of the golden-haired girl were flashing,
her cheeks glowing. "I thought," she said,
bitterly, "that under all that rudeness and
roughness there was a kindness and natural
generosity. But he has undeceived me now. I
have tried," she continued, in a voice that still
trembled a little, "to hope the best, and do
what little I could by my poor words to save
him from himself. But it is useless now. Let
him go."

It was scarcely surprising that Mr. Tillotson's
cold cheeks should have found colour at these
words, or that he should have felt a thrill of
something like pleasure. Then she seemed to
recollect herself, fell into a sort of confusion,
and fled away up-stairs.

When he came back to the drawing-room, he
found the family still excited.

"It is one satisfaction," said Mrs. Tilney,
decidedly, "we can have done with him now.
There is no further excuse for our putting up
with his airs. I declare," she continued, with
her favourite motion of rustling her dress angrily,
"all I have endured from him, his insolence, and
want of respect, from the fear of hurting his
sensitiveness. A person of my age consulting a