embraced in silence. My admirable friend alone
possessed his composure. He sent out, on the
spot, for a bottle of wine."

"Can I say a word to you in private, Mr.
Obenreizer?"

"Assuredly." He turned to Madame Dor.
"My good creature, you are sinking for want
of repose. Mr. Vendale will excuse you."

Madame Dor rose, and set forth sideways on
her journey from the stove to bed. She dropped
a stocking. Vendale picked it up for her, and
opened one of the folding-doors. She
advanced a step, and dropped three more
stockings. Vendale, stooping to recover them as
before, Obenreizer interfered with profuse
apologies, and with a warning look at Madame
Dor. Madame Dor acknowledged the look by
dropping the whole of the stockings in a heap,
and then shuffling away panic-stricken from the
scene of disaster. Obenreizer swept up the
complete collection fiercely in both hands.
"Go!" he cried, giving his prodigious handful
a preparatory swing in the air. Madame Dor
said, 'Mon Dieu," and vanished into the next
room, pursued by a shower of stockings.

"What must you think, Mr. Vendale," said
Obenreizer, closing the door, "of this
deplorable intrusion of domestic details? For
myself, I blush at it. We are beginning the
New Year as badly as possible; everything has
gone wrong to-night. Be seated, pray—and
say, what may I offer you? Shall we pay our
best respects to another of your noble English
institutions? It is my study to be, what you
call, jolly. I propose a grog."

Vendale declined the grog with all needful
respect for that noble institution.

"I wish to speak to you on a subject in
which I am deeply interested," he said. "You
must have observed, Mr. Obenreizer, that I
have, from the first, felt no ordinary admiration
for your charming niece?"

"You are very good. In my niece's name, I
thank you."

"Perhaps you may have noticed, latterly,
that my admiration for Miss Obenreizer has
grown into a tenderer and deeper feeling——-?"

"Shall we say friendship, Mr. Vendale?"

"Say love—and we shall be nearer to the
truth."

Obenreizer started out of his chair. The
faintly discernible beat, which was his nearest
approach to a change of colour, showed itself
suddenly in his cheeks.

"You are Miss Obenreizer's guardian,"
pursued Vendale. " I ask you to confer upon me
the greatest of all favours—I ask you to give
me her hand in marriage."

Obenreizer dropped back into his chair.
"Mr. Vendale," he said, "you petrify me."

"I will wait," rejoined Vendale, "until you
have recovered yourself."

"One word before I recover myself. You
have said nothing about this to my niece?"

"I have opened my whole heart to your niece.
And I have reason to hope—-"

"What!" interposed Obenreizer. "You have
made a proposal to my niece, without first asking
for my authority to pay your addresses to
her?" He struck his hand on the table, and
lost his hold over himself for the first time in
Vendale's experience of him. "Sir!" he
exclaimed, indignantly, "what sort of conduct is
this? As a man of honour, speaking to a man
of honour, how can you justify it?"

"I can only justify it as one of our English
institutions," said Vendale, quietly. " You
admire our English institutions. I can't honestly
tell you, Mr. Obenreizer, that I regret what I
have done. I can only assure you that I have
not acted in the matter with any intentional
disrespect towards yourself. This said, may I ask
you to tell me plainly what objection you see to
favouring my suit?"

"I see this immense objection," answered
Obenreizer, "that my niece and you are not on
a social equality together. My niece is the
daughter of a poor peasant; and you are the
son of a gentleman. You do us an honour," he
added, lowering himself again gradually to his
customary polite level, "which deserves, and
has, our most grateful acknowledgments. But
the inequality is too glaring; the sacrifice is too
great. You English are a proud people, Mr.
Vendale. I have observed enough of this
country to see that such a marriage as you
propose would be a scandal here. Not a hand
would be held out to your peasant-wife; and
all your best friends would desert you."

"One moment," said Vendale, interposing on
his side. "I may claim, without any great
arrogance, to know more of my country-people
in general, and of my own friends in particular,
than you do. In the estimation of everybody
whose opinion is worth having, my wife herself,
would be the one sufficient justification of my
marriage. If I did not feel certain—observe, I
say certain—that I am offering her a position
which she can accept without so much as the
shadow of a humiliation—I would never (cost
me what it might) have asked her to be my wife.
Is there any other obstacle that you see? Have
you any personal objection to me?"

Obenreizer spread out both his hands in
courteous protest. "Personal objection!" he
exclaimed. "Dear sir, the bare question is
painful to me."

"We are both men of business," pursued
Vendale, "and you naturally expect me to
satisfy you that I have the means of supporting
a wife. I can explain my pecuniary position in
two words. I inherit from my parents a fortune
of twenty thousand pounds. In half of that sum
I have only a life-interest, to which, if I die,
leaving a widow, my widow succeeds. If I die,
leaving children, the money itself is divided
among them, as they come of age. The other
half of my fortune is at my own disposal, and is
invested in the wine-business. I see my way to
greatly improving that business. As it stands
at present, I cannot state my return from my
capital embarked at more than twelve hundred
a year. Add the yearly value of my life-interest
—and the total reaches a present annual income
of fifteen hundred pounds. I have the fairest
prospect of soon making it more. In the