A drysalter, sir, and isinglass importer.'

Merton was conscious of vagueness as to isinglass, and was distantly
reminded of a celebrated racehorse. However, it was clear that Mr.
Fulton was a retired tradesman of some kind. 'He went out of
isinglass--before the cheap scientific substitute was invented (it is
made out of old quill pens)--with seventy-five thousand pounds. And it
_ought_ to come to my children. He has not another relation living but
ourselves; he married my aunt. But we never see him: he said that he
could not stand our Sunday dinners at Hampstead.'

A feeling not remote from sympathy with Mr. Fulton stole over Merton's
mind as he pictured these festivals. 'Is his god very--voluminous?'

Mrs. Gisborne stared.

'Is he a very portly gentleman?'

'No, Mr. Graham, he is next door to a skeleton, though you would not
expect it, considering.'

'Considering his devotion to the pleasures of the table?'

'Gluttony, shameful waste _I_ call it. And he is a stumbling block and a
cause of offence to others. He is a patron of the City and Suburban
College of Cookery, and founded two scholarships there, for scholars
learning how to pamper the--'

'The epicure,' said Merton. He knew the City and Suburban College of
Cookery. One of his band, a Miss Frere, was a Fellow and Tutor of that
academy.

'And about what age is your uncle?' he asked.

'About sixty, and not a white hair on his head.'

'Then he may marry his cook?'

'He will, sir.'

'And is very likely to have a family.'

Mrs. Gisborne sniffed, and produced a pocket handkerchief from the early
Victorian reticule. She applied the handkerchief to her eyes in silence.
Merton observed her with pity. 'We need the money so; there are so many
of us,' said the lady.

'Do you think that Mr. Fulton is--passionately in love, with his
domestic?'

'He only loves his meals,' said Mrs. Gisborne; '_he_ does not want to
marry her, but she has a hold over him through--his--'

'Passions, not of the heart,' said Merton hastily. He dreaded an
anatomical reference.

'He is afraid of losing her. He and his cronies give each other dinners,
jealous of each other they are; and he actually pays the woman two
hundred a year.'

'And beer money?' said Merton. He had somewhere read or heard of beer
money as an item in domestic finance.

'I don't know about that. The cruel thing is that she is a woman of
strict temperance principles. So am I. I am sure i