ies, if a creature so
wretched could have had enemies, would have forgiven him, on seeing him
in his new dress. His friends--had any of his friends been left--would
have been less distressed if they had looked at him in his coffin than
if they had looked at him as he was now. Incessantly restless, he paced
the room from end to end. Now he looked at his watch; now he
looked out of the window; now he looked at the well-furnished
breakfast-table--always with the same wistful, uneasy inquiry in his
eyes. The waiter coming in, with the urn of boiling water, was addressed
for the fiftieth time in the one form of words which the miserable
creature seemed to be capable of uttering that morning: "My son is
coming to breakfast. My son is very particular. I want everything of the
best--hot things and cold things--and tea and coffee--and all the
rest of it, waiter; all the rest of it." For the fiftieth time, he now
reiterated those anxious words. For the fiftieth time, the impenetrable
waiter had just returned his one pacifying answer, "All right, sir; you
may leave it to me"--when the sound of leisurely footsteps was heard
on the stairs; the door opened; and the long-expected son sauntered
indolently into the room, with a neat little black leather bag in his
hand.

"Well done, old gentleman!" said Bashwood the younger, surveying his
father's dress with a smile of sardonic encouragement. "You're ready to
be married to Miss Gwilt at a moment's notice!"

The father took the son's hand, and tried to echo the son's laugh.

"You have such good spirits, Jemmy," he said, using the name in its
familiar form, as he had been accustomed to use it in happier days. "You
always had good spirits, my dear, from a child. Come and sit down; I've
ordered you a nice breakfast. Everything of the best! everything of the
best! What a relief it is to see you! Oh, dear, dear, what a relief it
is to see you." He stopped and sat down at the table, his face flushed
with the effort to control the impatience that was devouring him.
"Tell me about her!" he burst out, giving up the effort with a sudden
self-abandonment. "I shall die, Jemmy, if I wait for it any longer. Tell
me! tell me! tell me!"

"One thing at a time," said Bashwood the younger, perfectly unmoved by
his father's impatience. "We'll try the breakfast first, and come to the
lady afterward! Gently does it, old gentleman--gently does it!"

He put his leather bag on a chair, and sat down opposite