"Would he consider it an injury. Would she?"'

"Well," Brand said, "she is very enthusiastic, and noble, and generous,
and does not know what dependence or poverty means. But he is a man of
the world, and you would think he would look after his own kith and
kin."

"Yes, that is a wholesome conservative English sentiment, but it does
not rule the actions of everybody."

"But common sense--"

"Oh, bother common sense! Common-sense is only a grocer that hasn't got
an idea beyond ham-and-eggs."

"Well, if I am only a grocer," Brand said, quite submissively, "don't
you think the grocer, if he were asked to pay off the National Debt,
ought to say, 'Gentlemen, that is a praiseworthy object; but in the
meantime wouldn't it be advisable for me to make sure that my wife
mayn't have to go on the parish?"

Thereafter there was silence for a time, and when Brand next spoke it
was in a certain, precise, hard fashion, as if he wished to make his
meaning very clear.

"Suppose, Evelyn," he said, "I were to tell you what has occurred to me
as the probable explanation of Lind's indifference about the future of
his daughter, would you be surprised?"

"I expect it will be wrong, for you cannot do justice to that man; but I
should like to hear it."

"I must tell you he wrote me a letter, a shilly-shallying sort of
letter, filled with arguments to prove that a marriage between Natalie
and myself would not be expedient, and all the rest of it: not
absolutely refusing his consent, you understand, but postponing the
matter, and hoping that on further reflection, et caetera, et caetera.
Well, do you know what my conclusion is?--that he is definitely resolved
I shall not marry his daughter; and that he is playing with me,
humbugging me with the possibility of marrying her, until he induces me
to hand him over my fortune for the use of the Society. Stare away as
you like; that is what I believe to be true."

He rose and walked to the window, and looked out.

"Well, Evelyn, whatever happens, I have to thank you for many things. It
has been all like my boyhood come back again, but much more wonderful
and beautiful. If I have to go to America, I shall take with me at least
the memory of one night at Covent Garden. She was there--and Madame
Potecki--and old Calabressa. It was _Fidelio_ they were playing. She
gave me some forget-me-nots."

"What do you mean by going to America?" Lord Evelyn said.

Brand remained at the window for a