man who had attempted to marry Mary Lawrie, and had failed.

It was all true,--all that John Gordon alleged on his own behalf. But
then he was able to salve his own conscience by telling himself that
when John Gordon had run through his diamonds, there would be nothing
but poverty and distress. There was no reason for supposing that the
diamonds would be especially short-lived, or that John Gordon would
probably be a spendthrift. But diamonds as a source of income are
volatile,--not trustworthy, as were the funds to Mrs Baggett. And
then the nature of the source of income offered, enabled him to say
so much as a plea to himself. Could he give the girl to a man who had
nothing but diamonds with which to pay his weekly bills? He did tell
himself again and again, that Mary Lawrie should not be encouraged
to put her faith in diamonds. But he felt that it was only an excuse.
In arguing the matter backwards and forwards, he could not but tell
himself that he did believe in John Gordon.

And then an idea, a grand idea, but one very painful in its beauty,
crept into his mind. Even though these diamonds should melt away, and
become as nothing, there was his own income, fixed and sure as the
polar star, in the consolidated British three per cents. If he really
loved this girl, could he not protect her from poverty, even were she
married to a John Gordon, broken down in the article of his diamonds?
If he loved her, was he not bound, by some rule of chivalry which he
could not define even to himself, to do the best he could for her
happiness? He loved her so well that he thought that, for her sake,
he could abolish himself. Let her have his money, his house, and his
horses. Let her even have John Gordon. He could with a certain
feeling of delight imagine it all. But then he could not abolish
himself. There he would be, subject to the remarks of men. "There
is he," men would say of him, "who has maundered away his mind in
softnesses;--who in his life has loved two girls, and has, at last,
been thrown over by both of them because he has been no better than
a soft maundering idiot." It would be thus that his neighbours would
speak of him in his vain effort to abolish himself.

It was not yet too late. He had not yielded an inch to this man. He
could still be stern and unbending. He felt proud of himself in that
he had been stern and unbending, as far as the man was concerned.
And as regarded Mary, he did feel sure of her. If there w