octor to
wince, having hit nearer the truth than the old gentleman had any idea
of, for although Oliver envied not the handsome stranger's popularity,
he was, almost unknown to himself, very jealous of the impression he
seemed to have made on Rose Ellis.

A feeling of shame induced him to change the subject of conversation,
with a laughing observation that he hoped such an unworthy motive did
not influence him.

Now, while this conversation was going on in the parlour of Mr
Donnithorne's cottage, another dialogue was taking place in a small
wooden erection at the end of the garden, which bore the dignified name
of "Rose's Bower." The parties concerned in it were George Augustus
Clearemout and Rose Ellis.

A day or two previous to the conversation to which we are about to draw
attention, the managing director had undergone a change in his
sentiments and intentions. When he first saw Rose he thought her an
uncommonly sweet and pretty girl. A short acquaintance with her
convinced him that she was even sweeter and prettier than at first he
had thought her. This, coupled with the discovery that her uncle was
very rich, and that he meant to leave a large portion of his wealth, if
not all of it, to Rose, decided Clearemout, and he resolved to marry
her. Afterwards he became aware of the fact that old Mr Donnithorne
had met with losses, but he was ignorant of their extent, and still
deemed it worth while to carry out his intentions.

George Augustus had been a "managing director" in various ways from his
earliest infancy, and had never experienced much opposition to his will,
so that he had acquired a habit of settling in his own mind whatever he
meant to do, and forthwith doing it. On this occasion he resolved to
sacrifice himself to Rose, in consideration of her prospective fortune--
cash being, of course, Mr Clearemout's god.

Great, then, was the managing director's surprise, and astonishing the
condition of his feelings, when, on venturing to express his wishes to
Rose, he was kindly, but firmly, rejected! Mr Clearemout was so
thunderstruck--having construed the unsophisticated girl's candour and
simplicity of manner into direct encouragement--that he could make no
reply, but, with a profound bow, retired hastily from her presence, went
to his lodgings, and sat down with his elbows on the table, and his face
buried in his large hands, the fingers of which appeared to be crushing
in his forehead, as if to stifl