the present moment
take the comfortable shape of a balance at my banker's."

"I'd leave it there,--or buy land, or railway shares. If I had
realised in that venture enough to look at, I'd never go out to the
diamond-fields again."

"It's hard to bring an occupation of that kind to an end all at
once," said John Gordon.

"Crescit amor diamonds!" repeated the Reverend Montagu Blake, shaking
his head. "If you gave me three, I could easily imagine that I should
toss up with another fellow who had three also, double or quits, till
I lost them all. But we'll make sure of dinner, at any rate, without
any such hazardous proceeding." Then they went into the dining-room,
and enjoyed themselves, without any reference having been made as yet
to the business which had brought John Gordon into the neighbourhood
of Alresford.

"You'll find that port wine rather good. I can't afford claret,
because it takes such a lot to go far enough. To tell the truth, when
I'm alone I confine myself to whisky and water. Blake is a very good
name for whisky."

"Why do you make a ceremony with me?"

"Because it's so pleasant to have an excuse for such a ceremony.
It wasn't you only I was thinking of when I came out just now, and
uncorked the bottle. Think what it is to have a prudent mind. I had
to get it myself out of the cellar, because girls can't understand
that wine shouldn't be treated in the same way as physic. By-the-by,
what brought you into this part of the world at all?"

"I came to see one Mr Whittlestaff."

"What! old William Whittlestaff? Then, let me tell you, you have come
to see as honest a fellow, and as good-hearted a Christian, as any
that I know."

"You do know him?"

"Oh yes, I know him. I'd like to see the man whose bond is better
than old Whittlestaff's. Did you hear what he did about that
young lady who is living with him? She was the daughter of a
friend,--simply of a friend who died in pecuniary distress. Old
Whittlestaff just brought her into his house, and made her his own
daughter. It isn't every one who will do that, you know."

"Why do you call him old?" said John Gordon.

"Well; I don't know. He is old."

"Just turned fifty."

"Fifty is old. I don't mean that he is a cripple or bedridden.
Perhaps if he had been a married man, he'd have looked younger. He
has got a very nice girl there with him; and if he isn't too old to
think of such things, he may marry her. Do you know Miss Lawrie?"

"Yes; I kn