abandon the just rights of your niece, and of all
who belong to her. Let me state the case to
you once more, and for the last time."

Mr. Fairlie shook his head, and sighed
piteously.

"This is heartless of you, Gilmore — very
heartless," he said. "Never mind; go on."

I put all the points to him carefully; I set
the matter before him in every conceivable light.
He lay back in the chair, the whole time I was
speaking, with his eyes closed. When I had
done, he opened them indolently, took his silver
smelling-bottle from the table, and sniffed at it
with an air of gentle relish.

"Good Gilmore!" he said, between the sniffs,
"how very nice this is of you! How you
reconcile one to human nature!"

"Give me a plain answer to a plain question,
Mr. Fairlie. I tell you again, Sir Percival
Glyde has no shadow of a claim to expect more
than the income of the money. The money
itself, if your niece has no children, ought to be
under her control, and to return to her family.
If you stand firm, Sir Percival must give way—
he must give way, I tell you, or he exposes himself
to the base imputation of marrying Miss
Fairlie entirely from mercenary motives."

Mr. Fairlie shook the silver smelling-bottle
at me playfully.

"You dear old Gilmore; how you do hate
rank and family, don't you? How you detest
Glyde, because he happens to be a baronet.
What a Radical you are oh, dear me, what a
Radical you are!"

A Radical!!! I could put up with a great deal
of provocation, but, after holding the soundest
Conservative principles all my life, I could not
put up with being called a Radical. My blood
boiled at it—I started out of my chair — I was
speechless with indignation.

"Don't shake the room!" cried Mr. Fairlie—
"for Heaven's sake, don't shake the room!
Worthiest of all possible Gilmores, I meant no
offence. My own views are so extremely
liberal that I think I am a Radical myself. Yes.
We are a pair of Radicals. Please don't be
angry. I can't quarrel—I haven't stamina
enough. Shall we drop the subject? Yes.
Come and look at these sweet etchings. Do let
me teach you to understand the heavenly
pearliness of these lines. Do, now, there's a
good Gilmore!"

While he was maundering on in this way, I
was, fortunately for my own self-respect, returning
to my senses. When I spoke again, I was
composed enough to treat his impertinence with
the silent contempt that it deserved.

"You are entirely wrong, sir," I said, "in
supposing that I speak from any prejudice
against Sir Percival Glyde. I may regret that
he has so unreservedly resigned himself, in this
matter, to his lawyer's direction, as to make any
appeal to himself impossible; but I am not
prejudiced against him. What I have said
would equally apply to any other man, in his
situation, high or low. The principle I maintain
is a recognised principle among lawyers.
If you were to apply, at the nearest town here,
to the first respectable practitioner you could
find, he would tell you, as a stranger, what I
tell you, as a friend. He would inform you that
it is against all rule to abandon the lady's
money entirely to the man she marries. He
would decline, on grounds of common legal
caution, to give the husband, under any
circumstances whatever, an interest of twenty
thousand pounds in the event of the wife's
death."

"Would he really, Gilmore?" said Mr.
Fairlie. "If he said anything half so horrid I
do assure you I should tinkle my bell for Louis,
and have him sent out of the house immediately."

"You shall not irritate me, Mr. Fairlie — for
your niece's sake and for her father's sake, you
shall not irritate me. You shall take the
whole responsibility of this discreditable settlement
on your own shoulders, before I leave
the room."

"Don't!—now please don't!" said Mr.
Fairlie. "Think how precious your time is,
Gilmore; and don't throw it away. I would dispute
with you, if I could, but I can't — I haven't
stamina enough. You want to upset me, to
upset yourself, to upset Glyde, and to upset
Laura; and — oh, dear me —  all for the sake of
the very last thing in the world that is likely to
happen. No, dear friend — for the sake of peace
and quietness, positively No!"

"I am to understand, then, that you hold by
the determination expressed in your letter?"

"Yes, please. So glad we understand each
other at last. Sit down again — do!"

I walked at once to the door; and Mr. Fairlie
resignedly "tinkled" his hand-bell. Before
I left the room, I turned round, and addressed
him, for the last time.

"Whatever happens in the future, sir," I
said, "remember that my plain duty of warning
you has been performed. As the faithful friend
and servant of your family, I tell you, at parting,
that no daughter of mine should be married
to any man alive under such a settlement as you
are forcing me to make for Miss Fairlie."

The door opened behind me, and the valet
stood waiting on the threshold.

"Louis," said Mr. Fairlie, "show Mr. Gilmore
out, and then come back and hold up my
etchings for me again. Make them give you a
good lunch down stairs — do, Gilmore, make my
idle beasts of servants give you a good lunch."

I was too much disgusted to reply; I turned
on my heel, and left him in silence. There was
an up train, at two o'clock in the afternoon;
and by that train I returned to London.

On the Tuesday, I sent in the altered settlement,
which practically disinherited the very
persons whom Miss Fairlie's own lips had
informed me she was most anxious to benefit. I
had no choice. Another lawyer would have
drawn up the deed if I had refused to
undertake it.

My task is done. My personal share in the