got so mad with drinking that we all thought--"

And so Mr Bideawhile went on for two hours, and Frank found no
opportunity of saying one word about the business which had brought
him up to town. What wonder that such a man as this should be obliged
to stay at his office every night till nine o'clock?

During these two hours, a clerk had come in three or four times,
whispering something to the lawyer, who, on the last of such
occasions, turned to Frank, saying, "Well, perhaps that will do for
to-day. If you'll manage to call to-morrow, say about two, I will
have the whole thing looked up; or, perhaps Wednesday or Thursday
would suit you better." Frank, declaring that the morrow would suit
him very well, took his departure, wondering much at the manner in
which business was done at the house of Messrs Slow & Bideawhile.

When he called the next day, the office seemed to be rather
disturbed, and he was shown quickly into Mr Bideawhile's room. "Have
you heard this?" said that gentleman, putting a telegram into his
hands. It contained tidings of the death of Sir Louis Scatcherd.
Frank immediately knew that these tidings must be of importance to
his father; but he had no idea how vitally they concerned his own
more immediate interests.

"Dr Thorne will be up in town on Thursday evening after the funeral,"
said the talkative clerk. "And nothing of course can be done till he
comes," said Mr Bideawhile. And so Frank, pondering on the mutability
of human affairs, again took his departure.

He could do nothing now but wait for Dr Thorne's arrival, and so
he amused himself in the interval by running down to Malvern, and
treating with Miss Dunstable in person for the oil of Lebanon. He
went down on the Wednesday, and thus, failed to receive, on the
Thursday morning, Mary's letter, which reached London on that day.
He returned, however, on the Friday, and then got it; and perhaps
it was well for Mary's happiness that he had seen Miss Dunstable in
the interval. "I don't care what your mother says," said she, with
emphasis. "I don't care for any Harry, whether it be Harry Baker, or
old Harry himself. You made her a promise, and you are bound to keep
it; if not on one day, then on another. What! because you cannot draw
back yourself, get out of it by inducing her to do so! Aunt de Courcy
herself could not improve upon that." Fortified in this manner, he
returned to town on the Friday morning, and then got Mary's letter.
Frank al