raced herself for ever--at least in Mr Auberly's eyes--by having
married a waterman. Mr Auberly shut his eyes obstinately to the fact
that the said waterman had, by the sheer force of intelligence, good
conduct, courage, and perseverance, raised himself to the command of an
East Indiaman. It is astonishing how firmly some people can shut their
eyes--sew them up, as it were, and plaster them over--to some things,
and how easily they can open them to others! Mr Auberly's eyes were
open only to the fact that his sister-in-law had married a waterman, and
that that was an unpardonable sin, for which she was for ever banished
from the sunshine of his presence.

The widow's letter set forth that since her husband's death she had been
in somewhat poor circumstances--though not in absolute poverty--for
which she expressed herself thankful; that she did not write to ask for
money, but that she had a young son--a boy of about twelve--whom she was
very anxious to get into a mercantile house of some sort, and, knowing
his great influence, etcetera, etcetera, she hoped that, forgetting, if
not forgiving, the past, now that her husband was dead, he would kindly
do what he could, etcetera, etcetera.

To this Mr Auberly replied that it was impossible to forgive the past,
but he would do his best to forget it, and also to procure a situation
for her son (though _certainly_ not in his own office), on one
consideration, namely, that she, the widow, should forget the past
also--including his own, Mr Auberly's, existence (as she had once
before promised to do), and that she should never inform her son, or any
other member of her family--if there happened to be any others members
of it--of the relationship existing between them, nor apply to him by
visit or by letter for any further favours. In the event of her
agreeing to this arrangement, she might send her son to his residence in
Beverly Square, on Thursday next, between eleven and twelve.

Just as he concluded this letter a footman entered softly and laid a
three-cornered note on the table.

"Stay, Hopkins, I want you," said Mr Auberly, as he opened the note and
ran his eye over it.

Hopkins, who was clad in blue velvet and white stockings, stood like a
mute beside his master's chair. He was very tall and very thin, and
very red in the nose.

"Is the young woman waiting, Hopkins?"

"Yes, sir; she's in the lobby."

"Send her up."

In a few seconds Hopkins reopened the door,