hat he had, at any rate, paid so much of
the sum, according to his bond in assuming possession of it.

And what were to be his proceedings? They were so manifestly in the hands
of fate, that he declined to be troubled on that head.

Next morning came the usual short impatient scrawl on thin blue paper
from Edward, scarce worthy of a passing thought. In a postscript, he
asked: "Are there, on your oath, no letters for me? If there are, send
them immediately--every one, bills as well. Don't fail. I must have
them."

Algernon was at last persuaded to pack up Dahlia's letters, saying: "I
suppose they can't do any harm now." The expense of the postage afflicted
him; but "women always cost a dozen to our one," he remarked. On his way
to the City, he had to decide whether he would go to the Bank, or take
the train leading to Wrexby. He chose the latter course, until, feeling
that he was about to embark in a serious undertaking, he said to himself,
"No! duty first;" and postponed the expedition for the day following.

CHAPTER XXXII

Squire Blancove, having business in town, called on his brother at the
Bank, asking whether Sir William was at home, with sarcastic emphasis on
the title, which smelt to him of commerce. Sir William invited him to
dine and sleep at his house that night.

"You will meet Mrs. Lovell, and a Major Waring, a friend of hers, who
knew her and her husband in India," said the baronet.

"The deuce I shall," said the squire, and accepted maliciously.

Where the squire dined, he drank, defying ladies and the new-fangled
subserviency to those flustering teabodies. This was understood; so, when
the Claret and Port had made a few rounds, Major Waring was permitted to
follow Mrs. Lovell, and the squire and his brother settled to
conversation; beginning upon gout. Sir William had recently had a touch
of the family complaint, and spoke of it in terms which gave the squire
some fraternal sentiment. From that, they fell to talking politics, and
differed. The breach was healed by a divergence to their sons. The squire
knew his own to be a scamp.

"You'll never do anything with him," he said.

"I don't think I shall," Sir William admitted.

"Didn't I tell you so?"

"You did. But, the point is, what will you do with him?"

"Send him to Jericho to ride wild jackasses. That's all he's fit for."

The superior complacency of Sir William's smile caught the squire's
attention.

"What do you mean to do wit