otherwise have been mine. The old man had been on rather better terms
with me just before that; in a will that he destroyed I believe he had
treated me handsomely.'

'Well, well,' said Micklethwaite, 'every one knows there are detestable
women to be found. But you oughtn't to let this affect your view of
women in general. What became of the girl?'

'I made her a small allowance for a year and a half. Then her child
died, and the allowance ceased. I know nothing more of her. Probably
she has inveigled some one into marriage.'

'Well, Barfoot,' said the other, rolling about in his chair, 'my
Opinion remains the same. You are in debt to some worthy woman to the
extent of half your income. Be quick and find her. It will be better
for you.'

'And do you suppose,' asked Everard, with a smile of indulgence, 'that
I could marry on four hundred and fifty a year.

'Heavens! Why not?'

'Quite impossible. A wife _might_ be acceptable to me; but marriage
with poverty--I know myself and the world too well for that.'

'Poverty!' screamed the mathematician. 'Four hundred and fifty pounds!'

'Grinding poverty--for married people.'

Micklethwaite burst into indignant eloquence, and Everard sat listening
with the restrained smile on his lips.

CHAPTER X

FIRST PRINCIPLES

Having allowed exactly a week to go by, Everard Barfoot made use of his
cousin's permission, and called upon her at nine in the evening. Miss
Barfoot's dinner-hour was seven o'clock; she and Rhoda, when alone,
rarely sat for more than half an hour at table, and in this summer
season they often went out together at sunset to enjoy a walk along the
river. This evening they had returned only a few minutes before
Everard's ring sounded at the door. Miss Barfoot (they were just
entering the library) looked at her friend and smiled.

'I shouldn't wonder if that is the young man. Very flattering if he has
come again so soon.'

The visitor was in mirthful humour, and met with a reception of
corresponding tone. He remarked at once that Miss Nunn had a much
pleasanter aspect than a week ago; her smile was ready and agreeable;
she sat in a sociable attitude and answered a jesting triviality with
indulgence.

'One of my reasons for coming to-day,' said Everard, 'was to tell you a
remarkable story. It connects'--he addressed his cousin--'with our talk
about the matrimonial disasters of those two friends of mine. Do you
remember the name of Micklethwaite--a