or too nice-looking to be dealt with by a man. There will be cab hire,
and postage-stamps--admissions to public amusements, if she is inclined
that way--shillings for pew-openers, if she is serious, and takes
our people into churches to hear popular preachers, and so on. My own
professional services you shall have gratis; but I can't lose by you as
well. Only remember that, and you shall have your way. By-gones shall be
by-gones, and we will forget the past.

"Your affectionate son,

"JAMES BASHWOOD."

In the ecstasy of seeing help placed at last within his reach, the
father put his son's atrocious letter to his lips. "My good boy!" he
murmured, tenderly--"my dear, good boy!"

He put the letter down, and fell into a new train of thought. The next
question to face was the serious question of time. Mr. Pedgift had told
him Miss Gwilt might be married in a fortnight. One day of the
fourteen had passed already, and another was passing. He beat his hand
impatiently on the table at his side, wondering how soon the want of
money would force Allan to write to him from London. "To-morrow?" he
asked himself. "Or next day?"

The morrow passed, and nothing happened. The next day came, and the
letter arrived! It was on business, as he had anticipated; it asked
for money, as he had anticipated; and there, at the end of it, in a
postscript, was the address added, concluding with the words, "You may
count on my staying here till further notice."

He gave one deep gasp of relief, and instantly busied himself--though
there were nearly two hours to spare before the train started for
London--in packing his bag. The last thing he put in was his blue satin
cravat. "She likes bright colors," he said, "and she may see me in it
yet!"

XIV. MISS GWILT'S DIARY.

"All Saints' Terrace, New Road, London, July 28th, Monday night.--I can
hardly hold my head up, I am so tired. But in my situation, I dare not
trust anything to memory. Before I go to bed, I must write my customary
record of the events of the day.

"So far, the turn of luck in my favor (it was long enough before it
took the turn!) seems likely to continue. I succeeded in forcing
Armadale--the brute required nothing short of forcing!--to leave Thorpe
Ambrose for London, alone in the same carriage with me, before all the
people in the station. There was a full attendance of dealers in small
scandal, all staring hard at us, and all evidently drawing their own
conclusion