ompous, stern, and ungenial though he was, appeared
to entertain some such thoughts, as he sat by his own fireside, one such
night, in his elegant mansion in Beverly Square, Euston Road, London;
and smiled grimly over the top of the _Times_ newspaper at the fire.

Mr Auberly always smiled--when he condescended to smile--grimly. He
seldom laughed; when he did so he did it grimly too. In fact, he was a
grim man altogether; a gaunt, cadaverous, tall, careworn, middle-aged
man--also a great one. There could be no question as to that; for,
besides being possessed of wealth, which, in the opinion of some minds,
constitutes greatness, he was chairman of a railway company, and might
have changed situations with the charwoman who attended the head office
of the same without much difference being felt. He was also a director
of several other companies, which, fortunately for them, did not appear
to require much direction in the conduct of their affairs.

Mr Auberly was also leader of the fashion, in his own circle, and an
oracle among his own parasites; but, strange to say, he was nobody
whatever in any other sphere. Cabmen, it is true, appeared to have an
immense respect for him on first acquaintance, for his gold rings and
chains bespoke wealth, and he was a man of commanding presence, but
their respect never outlived a first engagement. Cabmen seldom touched
their hats to Mr Auberly on receiving their fare; they often parted
from him with a smile as grim as his own, and once a peculiarly daring
member of the fraternity was heard blandly to request him to step again
into the cab, and he would drive him the "nine hundred and ninety-ninth
part of an inch that was still doo on the odd sixpence." That generous
man even went further, and, when his fare walked away without making a
reply, he shouted after him that "if he'd only do 'im the honour to come
back, he'd throw in a inch an' a half extra for nothink." But Mr
Auberly was inexorable.

"Louisa, dear," said Mr Auberly, recovering from the grim smile which
had indicated his appreciation of his own fireside, "pour me out another
cup of coffee, and then you had better run away to bed. It is getting
late."

"Yes, papa," replied a little dark-eyed, dark-haired girl, laying down
her book and jumping up to obey the command.

It may be added that she was also dark-dressed, for Mr Auberly had
become a widower and his child motherless only six months before.

While Louisa w