of the Hounds, who was up at no one knows
what hour to go down to the kennel and see
that the men did their work well and thoroughly,
to stern old Sir Lionel Playfair, the upright
magistrate, the thoughtful conscientious landlord
—they did their work according to their
lights—there were few laggards among those
with whom Mr. Wilkins associated on the field
or at the dinner-table. Mr. Ness—though as a
clergyman he was not so active as he might have
been, yet even Mr. Ness fagged away with his
pupils and his new edition of the classics.
Only Mr. Wilkins, dissatisfied with his position,
neglected to fulfil the duties thereof. He
imitated the pleasures, and longed for the
fancied leisure of those about him; leisure that
he imagined would be so much more valuable
in the hands of a man like him, full of
intellectual tastes and accomplishments, than
frittered away by dull boors of untravelled,
uncultivated squires—whose company he never
refused, be it said, by the way.

And yet daily Mr. Wilkins was sinking from
the intellectually to the sensually self-indulgent
man. He lay late in bed, and hated Mr. Dunster
for his significant glance at the office-clock,
when he announced to his master that such and
such a client had been waiting more than an
hour to keep an appointment. "Why did not
you see him yourself, Dunster? I am sure you
would have done quite as well as me," Mr.
Wilkins sometimes replied, partly with a view
of saying something pleasant to the man whom
he disliked and feared. Mr. Dunster always
replied in a meek matter-of-fact tone, "Oh, sir,
they would not like to talk over their affairs
with a subordinate."

And every time he said this, or some speech
of the same kind, the idea came more and more
clearly into Mr. Wilkins's head of how pleasant
it would be to himself to take Dunster into
partnership, and thus throw all the responsibility
of the real work and drudgery upon his
clerk's shoulders. Importunate clients, who
would make appointments at unseasonable hours
and would keep to them, might confide in the
partner although they would not in the clerk.
The great objections to this course were, first
and foremost, Mr. Wilkins's strong dislike to
Mr. Dunster,—his repugnance to his company,
his dress, his voice, his ways,—all of which irritated
his employer, till his state of feeling towards
Dunster might be called antipathy; next,
Mr. Wilkins was fully aware of the fact that all
Mr. Dunster's actions and words were carefully
and thoughtfully prearranged to further the
great unspoken desire of his life—that of being
made a partner where now he was but a servant.
Mr. Wilkins took a malicious pleasure in
tantalising Mr. Dunster by such speeches as the
one I have just mentioned, which always seemed
like an opening to the desired end, yet for a long
time never led any further. Yet all the while
that end was becoming more and more certain;
and at last it was arrived at.

Mr. Dunster always suspected that the final
push was given by some circumstance from
without; some reprimand for neglect—some
threat of withdrawal of business that his
employer had received; but of this he could not
be certain; all he knew was, that Mr. Wilkins
proposed the partnership to him in about as
ungracious a way in which such an offer could be
made; an ungraciousness which, after all, had
so little effect on the real matter in hand, that
Mr. Dunster could pass it over with a private
sneer, while taking all possible advantage of the
tangible benefit it was now in his power to
accept.

Mr. Corbet's attachment to Ellinor had been
formally disclosed to her just before this time.
He had left college, was entered at the Middle
Temple, and was fagging away at law, and feeling
success in his own power; Ellinor was to "come
out" at the next Hamley assemblies; and her
lover began to be jealous of the possible
admirers her striking appearance and piquant
conversation might attract, and thought it a good
time to make the success of his suit certain by
spoken words and promises.

He needed not have alarmed himself even
enough to make him take this step, if he had
been capable of understanding Ellinor's heart as
fully as he did her appearance and conversation.
She never missed the omission of formal words
and promises. She considered herself as fully
engaged to him, as much pledged to marry
him and no one else, before he had asked the
final question, as afterwards. She was rather
surprised at the necessity for those decisive
words.

"Ellinor, dearest, will you—can you marry
me?" and her reply was—given with a deep
blush I must record, and in a soft murmuring
tone—

"Yes—oh yes—I never thought of anything
else."

"Then I may speak to your father, may not I,
darling?"

"He knows; I am sure he knows; and he
likes you so much. Oh, how happy I am!"

"But still I must speak to him before I go.
When can I see him, my Ellinor? I must go
back to town at four o'clock."

"I heard his voice in the stable-yard only just
before you came. Let me go and find out if he
is gone to the office yet."

No! to be sure he was not gone. He was
quietly smoking a cigar in his study, sitting
in an easy-chair near the open window, and
leisurely glancing at all the advertisements in
the Times. He hated going to the office more
and more since Dunster had become a partner;
that fellow gave himself such airs of investigation
and reprehension.

He got up, took the cigar out of his mouth,
and placed a chair for Mr. Corbet, knowing well
why he had thus formally prefaced his entrance
into the room with a—

"Can I have a few minutes' conversation
with you, Mr. Wilkins?"

"Certainly, my dear fellow. Sit down. Will
you have a cigar?"

"No! I never smoke." Mr. Corbet despised