and we shall soon save that out of your
pay. I was adding up to-day, and I find I can
save fifteen shillings a week out of the housekeeping
money, and that’s thirty-nine pounds a
year. And if we wash at home that’s another
ten pounds, and baby won’t want anything for
ever so long, and I don’t intend going to any
more balls or parties. Oh, it’ll be such fun,
Frank dear, won’t it?”

But Frank looked rather glum, as if he did
not see much fun in it. Truth to say, he felt
remorseful for having deceived Milly.

“Why, Frank dear, you don’t look a bit
happy. What’s the matter? Don’t you think
it’s a good one?” The little woman took up
the bill, and began reading it over, as if fearful
it was a sham.

“Oh, it’s right enough,” said Frank, rather
sulkily; “give it to me, and I’ll go and pay
it into the bank before it gets lost.” He
stretched out his hand and took it away from
her.

“Frank! Frank! what is the matter? You
never spoke like that before; I’m sure it is
quite safe with me, I wouldn’t lose it for the
world. What is the matter, Frank? You are
not angry with me?” She burst into tears, and
buried her poor little face on his shoulder.

“My own darling, of course I am not; I
didn’t mean to be so cross, only it is a nuisance
to have to pay away all this money to Leverson,
and get nothing for it.”

“But, Frank, you did get something for it?
You got your company, and that’s a great thing
to get.”

“So it is, but still it does seem like throwing
money away. Only think what we might
have bought with it; why we could have set
up a little carriage! And you know how much
you have wished for one.”

“But I don’t now, Frank, really. I’d much
rather walk, indeed I would; and the pony
would always be getting ill, and the man would
eat ever so much, and you’d get thrown out
and have your legs broken, and then you’d be
obliged to sell out, and what would become of
us then? My dear Frank, I don’t want the
carriage, indeed I don’t.”

Next week, carrying with him the bill for four
hundred pounds, he started for London, on a
visit to Cavendish-court.

The court was as smoke-dyed and dingy as
ever—perhaps a trifle more so, than when he
saw it in the spring; but Mr. Leverson still
looked as cool and as smiling as ever, and
was charmed to see him.

After mutual greetings, he produced his bill,
handing it over to the money-lender with an
intimation that it was to form part payment of
the loan.

“Much obliged, Mr. Chester,” said Leverson,
glancing at it, and throwing it carelessly
on the table, “four hundred pounds, yes,
exactly, leaving a balance of—of—” he rapidly
turned over the leaves of a ledger—“of four
hundred and forty-five pounds due September
21st. Twenty-six days yet to run.”

“Yes, that’s it,” said Frank. “Now, what
arrangement can you make to let the balance
run on for another year?”

“Another year. Twelve months. It’s a long
time, and money rising every day. Can’t we
say six months?”

“I want it for a twelvemonth,” cried Frank.
“I’ll pay you fair interest for it. You ought
to trust me now, after paying off half.”

“So I do, my dear sir, so I do. As you
say, half paid off. Still, you see, the four hundred
pounds only covers the interest of the loan
—little more. The principal still remains.”

“And pretty good interest too,” broke out
Frank. “Thirty-three per cent!”

“Excuse me, Mr. Chester, you came to me,
not I to you. You wanted the money, and I
gave it, on my own terms, and I will do so again
on my own terms.”

“How much, in Heaven’s name?” cried
Frank, frightened at the change in the Leversonian
manner.

The capitalist pencilled some figures on a slip
of paper, and handed the slip to Frank.

“It is.”

“The interest is higher, too.”

“Forty per cent. Money is dearer than it
was; the security also is less.”

“How do you make that out?”

“They are going to reduce the army by two
companies per regiment, in which case you will
be a supernumerary, and will be liable to be
placed on half-pay.”

“I shan’t pay it!” cried Frank, losing his
temper.

“Very good, Mr. Chester; but I still hold
your promise to that effect, and a gentleman’s
word is usually something.”

“You must excuse me, Mr. Leverson. I beg
your pardon. I’m an excitable sort of fellow,
and you know I’m not used to this sort of thing.
I’ll pay you the money. No, not that, thank
you!” as Leverson pushed the new bill towards
him. “Not that. I’ll pay you the money on the
21st, I think it is. Good morning, sir; sorry I
lost my temper. Good day!”

It was in no enviable frame of mind that
he hurried along the streets. He felt angry
with himself for having broken with Leverson;
felt angry with the shops for displaying such
stores of wealth, a very little of which was wanting
to make his worldly affairs comfortable; felt
angry even with poor unoffending Milly.

“If it hadn’t been for her and the confounded
baby, I could have exchanged at once, and made
it all square,” he muttered. Which showed
him to be in a bitter bad temper indeed.

He had walked along Pall Mall, and turned up
St. James’s-street, when it struck him he would