e would have returned to his office had he been in Parliament
when his party returned to power. But he had made no friend, he had
not learned to talk even to the Secretary of the Treasury;--and when
the party came back to power he was passed over without remorse, and
almost without a regret.

He never resumed the active bustle of his profession after that
disappointment. His wife was then dead, and for nearly a twelvemonth
he went about, declaring to attorneys and others that his
professional life was done. He did take again to a certain class of
work when he came back to the old chambers in Southampton Buildings;
but he was seen in Court only rarely, and it was understood that he
wished it to be supposed that he had retired. He had ever been a
moderate man in his mode of living, and had put together a sum of
money sufficient for moderate wants. He possessed some twelve or
fourteen hundred a year independent of anything that he might now
earn; and, as he had never been a man greedy of money, so was he now
more indifferent to it than in his earlier days. It is a mistake,
I think, to suppose that men become greedy as they grow old. The
avaricious man will show his avarice as he gets into years, because
avarice is a passion compatible with old age,--and will become more
avaricious as his other passions fall off from him. And so will it
be with the man that is open-handed. Mr. Underwood, when struggling
at the Bar, had fought as hard as any of his compeers for comfort
and independence;--but money, as money, had never been dear to
him;--and now he was so trained a philosopher that he disregarded
it altogether, except so far as it enabled him to maintain his
independence.

On a certain Friday evening in June, as he sat at dinner at his club,
instead of applying himself to his book, which according to his
custom he had taken from his pocket, he there read a letter, which
as soon as read he would restore to the envelope, and would take it
out again after a few moments of thought. At last, when the cup of
tea was done and the bill was paid, he put away letter and book
together and walked to the door of his club. When there he stood and
considered what next should he do that evening. It was now past eight
o'clock, and how should he use the four, five, or perhaps six hours
which remained to him before he should go to bed? The temptation
to which he was liable prompted him to return to his solitude in
Southampton Buildings. Shou