well your talking to me about giving you
time, but how am I to get it? It's no good
going over the old story, you know it as well
as I do. There, there," he said, shrugging his
shoulders, "I must try and get old Shadrach
to renew. I suppose we may as well go at
once, Dallas." He left the room, followed by
Harriet.

George Dallas sat over the fire in an attitude
of deep dejection. He was sick at heart, and
the revulsion of feeling that had begun at
Poynings had not yet ceased. "If I could but
be done with it all!" he thought. "But I'm in
the groove, I'm in the groove."

"Come along, George," said Routh, who
seemed more good humoured than before, as he
re-entered the room, soberly attired, as became
a man going to do business in the City.
"Don't be down-hearted; the old lady will
keep her word. Don't be afraid; and, in the
mean time, we'll pull through. Put your coat
on, and come along. You'll give us some
dinner, Harriet, won't you? And if Deane calls,
ask him to join us. He won't," he continued,
with a laugh, "because he believes in tavern
dinners, and puts no faith in ours. We're snobs
who live in lodgings, George, you know; but
he'll drop in in the evening fast enough."

The application to Mr. Shadrach proved
successful, and George Dallas returned with Stewart
Routh to his lodgings, more firmly tied to him
than ever, by the strong bond of an increased
money-obligation.

"Pretty tidy terms, weren't they?" Routh
asked Dallas, when he had told Harriet, in
answer to her anxious questioning, that the
"renewal" had been arranged.

"Very tidy indeed," said poor George, ruefully;
"but, Routh, suppose when I do get the
money, it's not enough. What's to be done
then?"

"Never mind about then" said Routh, "now
is the important matter. Remember that
every then is made of nows, and keep your
mind easy. That's philosophy," as Mr. Squeers
says. "Your present business is to eat your
dinner."

Stewart Routh had thrown off his low
spirits, and had all but succeeded in rousing
George Dallas from his. Kindly, convivial,
only occasionally coarse, he was a dangerously
pleasant man at all times, and especially so to
George Dallas when Harriet was present; for
then his coarseness was entirely laid aside,
and her tact, humour, intelligence never
failed to please, to animate, and to amuse him.
The dinner was a very pleasant one, and, before
it had come to a conclusion, George Dallas
began to yield as completely as ever to the
influence of the man whose enviable knowledge
of "life" had been the first medium through
which he had attained it. George had
forgotten the renewed bill and his late failure for a
while, when the mention of Deane's name
recalled it to his memory.

"Has Deane been here, Harry?" asked
Routh.

"No, Stewart, I have been at home all day,
but he has not called."

"Ah—didn't happen to want me, no doubt."

"Have you seen much of him lately, Routh?"
inquired George Dallas. "I mean, within the last
week or two? While I—while I've been keeping
out of the way?" he said, with a nervous
laugh.

"Poor boy, you have been down on your
luck," said Routh. "Seen much of Deane?
Oh yes; he's always about—he's here most
days, some time in the forenoon."

"In the forenoon, is he? Considering the
hours he keeps at night, that surprises me."

"It doesn't surprise me. He's very strong
—has a splendid constitution, confound him,
and has not given it a shake yet. Drink doesn't
seem to 'trouble' him in the least."

"He's an odd fellow," said George, thoughtfully.
"How coolly he won my money, and
what a greenhorn I was, to be sure! I wonder
if he would have lost his own so coolly."

"Not a doubt of it," said Routh; "he'd
have been satisfied he would make it up out
of something else. He is an odd fellow, and a
deuced unpleasant fellow, to my mind."

Harriet looked at her husband with a glance
of caution. It was unlike Routh to dwell on a
mere personal feeling, or to let so much of his
mind be known unnecessarily. He caught the
glance and understood it, but it only angered,
without otherwise influencing him.

"A low-lived loafer, if ever there was one,"
he went on, "but useful in his way, Dallas.
Every man has a weakness; his is to think
himself a first-rate billiard player, while he is
only a fourth-rate. A man under such a delusion
is sure to lose his money to any one who
plays better than he does, and I may as well
be that man, don't you see?"

"I see perfectly," said George; "but I wish
he had been equally mistaken in his notions of
his card-playing science; it would have made a
serious difference to me."

"Never mind, old fellow," answered Routh;
"you shall have your revenge some day. Finish
your wine, and Harriet shall give us some
music."

She did so. She gave them some music,
such as very few can give—music which
combines perfection of art with true natural feeling.
This woman was a strange anomaly, full of
"treasons, stratagems, and spoils," and yet with
music in her soul.

Rather early, George Dallas left the pair, but
they sat up late, talking earnestly. Things
were going ill with Stewart Routh. Some of
his choicest and most promising combinations
had failed. He had once or twice experienced
a not uncommon misfortune in the lot of such
men as he;—he had encountered men in his own
profession who were as clever as himself, and
who, favoured by circumstances and
opportunity, had employed their talents at his
expense. The swindler had been swindled once
or twice, the biter had been bitten, and his
temper had not been improved in the process. He