For a moment she was undecided; but she
thought the whole interview over, and, for the
sake of her husband, resolved to say nothing
of it, which, indeed, seemed a wise
resolution.

CHAPTER XII. MR. TILNEY GIVES COMFORT.

BETTER times, too, had set in for Mr. Tilney.
After many scruples, and much sincere delicacy,
he had been induced by Mr. Tillotson to accept
a moderate loan, "at five per cent interest," as
it was most carefully stipulated; on the strength
of which he had taken a little house towards
Chelsea. All this had produced a wonderful
alteration in his looks and spirits.

"I declare to you, Tillotson," he said, as if
making a very handsome concession, "God is
very good to us after all. Do we do half enough
for Him in return? It astonishes me they don't
insist more on that view in the pulpit. He
sends us everything—the house-top and the
sparrows, and all that sort of thing; but what
do we send Him?"

Mr. Tillotson, always sweet-tempered and
placid, quite accepted this more devotional view
of imputing the obligation of his own services
to the highest source of all.

"I see a deal of Grainger," Mr. Tilney went
on, one day—"a deal of Grainger. A nice
creature; but spoiled. A fine nature originally,
but gone to the deuce, sir, for want of religious
culture. The man has about as much religious
sentiment in him as—as the funnel of that
lamp."

"And who was he?" asked Mr. Tillotson,
interested; "where does he come from?"

"One of the best families, sir," said Mr.
Tilney; "no better in all Burke. I knew his
father, Pat Grainger, well—no man better. No
man could have a nicer, or more genteel, or a
better-appointed table. His own crest on
everything. Lovely damask, sir. It was a great
pity."

"What?" asked Mr. Tillotson.

"O, the break up," said Mr. Tilney, as if he
was speaking of a ship. "It is very odd, do
you know, they all do that so much. Most
singular. Left his family in a miserable way.
How this man has kept himself is a marvel.
Has travelled, mixed with the best, and yet I vow
to Heaven, this moment, I don't know where he
could lay his hand on three-halfpence. Yet
I respect him for it. My dear Tillotson,"
continued he, warming, "don't you agree
with me, that a man with no visible means,
and yet who keeps up a good appearance,
has a good coat on his back, sees company,
goes up to his dinner-party, and pays for his
cab, is—is really—one of the noblest works of
our Creator?"

Mr. Tillotson smiled at this new definition.
The other went on:

"Poor Grainger. He used to be great with
us, you know, down at St. Alans, running in
and out, like a pet rabbit—no one to question
him. No one. And, indeed, I may tell you now,
Tillotson, now that it's all past, and gone, and
laid by—that he had always rather a—you know
—what the French call a pongchong for our
dear child of earth with the golden hair—of
course, I mean your wife, the present Mrs.
Tillotson."

A faint tinge coloured the other's cheeks.
"Indeed," he said, eagerly. "I never heard
or even suspected this."

"No," said Mr. Tilney, plaintively. "No,
no, I dare say not. We never let the worm in
the bud prey on us—in such cases, at least.
Girls will be girls, and like having men after
them; and to the end of the chapter. It's the
same with the whole kit of 'em."

"But," said Mr. Tillotson, a little excitedly,
"I think you are wrong in all this. For, from
what I saw at St. Alans, I should say, if there
was any one she disliked——"

"My dear fellow," said the other, patting his
arm in great delight, "you have not seen the
side of the world that I have. It requires
a life, sir, to know women and their ways.
The very man they curl their noses at, and turn
their backs upon, is the man they like. She
liked listening to our friend's stories of shooting
the tigers, and his swimming the rivers with his
gun in his teeth. You remember Desdemona
and her black man. My dear Tillotson, take
this truth home with you from an old soldier
that has," added he, with great cheerfulness,
"had his heart broken with the ingratitude of
courts and princes. Women, sir, have no
respect for snobs. You catch my meaning? Your
gentle, pale-faced, well-meaning, benevolent
snob, no girl worth her salt cares tuppence
for!"

Something like a chill struck on Mr. Tillotson's
heart as he heard this remarkable declaration.
He felt that there was a truth—very
rarely found in such declarations—in what his
friend had said.

"Look at Ross, too," went on Mr. Tilney,
quite encouraged by the overwhelming conviction
and assent that he saw in Mr. Tillotson's
face. "Look at Ross. Now that it's all past, and
gone, and laid by too—who would not say that
the present Mrs. Tillotson had a regard for him?
We all of us knew it, sir. Brought up together
from that high. With all his rudeness and
roughness, his follies and breakings out, we
could see, sir, with half an eye, sir, that the
present Mrs. Tillotson had a liking for him.
But that's all gone and laid by now. Curious,
looking back this way on the light of old days.
They come back on us, like mountains, my dear
Tillotson, rolling softly, softly, over one another.
Man," added Mr. Tilney, buttoning himself up
with devotion, "is but as a puff of smoke upon
earth. Blow it, sir, ever so gently, and it's
nowhere."

Mr. Tillotson walked home that day with
his eyes upon the ground, ruminating deeply.
Something like a hint of his own over-trust
and unsuspiciousness was in his mind, and that
grotesque dictum of Mr. Tilney seemed to
ring in his ears like a discordant chime—