tic
tyrant. He has come here to offer you the house, which must have so many
tender associations for you, not for a short period, as you wish, but
for--"

"I didn't know she was going to be married!" exclaimed Wodehouse--"that
makes all the difference, by Jove! Lucy will marry fast enough; but as
for Mary, I never thought she would hook any one at her time of life,"
said the vagabond, with a rude laugh. He turned to Lucy, not knowing any
better, and with some intention of pleasing her; but being met by a look
of indignation under which he faltered, he went back to his natural role
of sulky insolence. "By Jove! when I gave in to make such an offer, I
never thought she had a chance of getting married," said the heir. "I
aint going to give what belongs to me to another man--"

"Your brother wishes," said Jack Wentworth, calmly, "to make over the
house and furniture as it stands to you and your sister, Miss Wodehouse.
Of course it is not to be expected that he should be sorry to get his
father's property; but he is sorry that there should be no--no provision
for you. He means that you should have the house--"

"But I never thought she was going to be married, by Jove!" protested
the rightful owner. "Look here, Molly; you shall have the furniture.
The house would sell for a good bit of money. I tell you, Wentworth--"

Jack Wentworth did not move from the mantlepiece where he was standing,
but he cast a glance upon his unlucky follower which froze the words on
his lips. "My good fellow, you are quite at liberty to decline my
mediation in your affairs. Probably you can manage them better your own
way," said Wodehouse's hero. "I can only beg the Miss Wodehouses to
pardon my intrusion." Jack Wentworth's first step towards the door let
loose a flood of nameless terrors upon the soul of his victim. If he
were abandoned by his powerful protector, what would become of him? His
very desire of money, and the avarice which prompted him to grudge
making any provision for his sisters, was, after all, not real avarice,
but the spendthrift's longing for more to spend. The house which he was
sentenced to give up represented not so much gold and silver, but so
many pleasures, fine dinners, and bad company. He could order the
dinners by himself, it is true, and get men like himself to eat them;
but the fine people--the men who had once been fine, and who still
retained a certain tarnished glory--were, so far as Wodehouse was
concerned, en