part
if she were tied to such a man she would give him good cause to be
jealous.

Glenville replied in his most polite manner that he was sure she could
never be so cruel.

The Drag did not understand him.

"Confound the old aunt," said he, as he sat down to the table in the
dining-room to his mathematical papers, "why did she not stick to the
tallow-chandling, instead of coming here? Don't you think, Barton, our
respected governors ought to pay less for our coaching on account of the
drag? Of course we really pay something extra on her account; but,
generally speaking, you know an irremovable nuisance would diminish the
value of an estate, and I think a coach with an irremovable drag ought to
fetch less than a coach without encumbrances."

"I daresay you are right," said Barton. "The two women will ruin Porky
between them. The quantity of donkey chaises they require is something
awful. To be sure the hill is rather steep in hot weather."

"Yes," said Glenville, "they began by trying one chaise between them,
ride and tie; but Mrs. Porkington always would ride the first half of the
way, and so Miss Candlish only rode the last quarter, until at last the
first half grew to such enormous proportions that it caused a difference
between the ladies, and Porkington had to allow two donkey chaises. How
they do squabble, to be sure, about which of the two it really is who
requires the chaise!"

"I can't help thinking Socrates was a fool to want to be killed when he
had done nothing to deserve it," said Thornton, with a yawn, as he put
down his book.

"Yes," said Glenville, "nowadays a man expects to take his whack first--I
mean to hit some man on the head, or stab some woman in the breast,
first. Then he professes himself quite ready for the consequences, and
poetic justice is satisfied."

"How a man can put the square root of minus three eggs into a basket, and
then give five to one person, and half the remainder and the square of
the whole, divided by twelve, and so on, I never could understand; but
perhaps the answer is wrong, I mean the square root of minus three."

"Oh, if that is your answer, Barton," said Glenville, "you are fairly
floored. Take care you don't get an answer of that sort--a facer, I
mean--from the 'pretty fisher maiden.'"

"Don't chaff, Glenville," cried Barton; "you are always talking some
folly or other."

"Well, well, let us have some beer and a pipe.

'He, who would shine and