now you
call me rude, because I have my little revenge. I have called you Peter
Prosper, and you can't stand it. You haven't spirit enough to call me
Matty Thoroughbung in reply. But good-bye, Mr. Prosper,--for I never will
call you Peter again. As to what I said to you about money, that, of
course, is all bosh. I'll pay Soames's bill, and will never trouble you.
There's your letter, which, however, would be of no use, because it is
not signed. A very stupid letter it is. If you want to write naturally
you should never copy a letter. Good-bye, Mr. Prosper--Peter that never
shall be." Then she got up and walked out of the room.

Mr. Prosper, when he was left alone, remained for a while nearly
paralyzed. That he should have ever entertained the idea of making that
woman his wife! Such was his first thought. Then he reflected that he
had, in truth, escaped from her more easily than he had hoped, and that
she had certainly displayed some good qualities in spite of her
vulgarity and impudence. She did not, at any rate, intend to trouble him
any farther. He would never again hear himself called Peter by that
terribly loud voice. But his anger became very fierce against the whole
family at the rectory. They had ventured to laugh at him, and he could
understand that, in their eyes, he had become very ridiculous.

He could see it all,--the manner in which they had made fun of him, and
had been jocose over his intended marriage. He certainly had not
intended to be funny in their eyes. But, while he had been exercising
the duty of a stern master over them, and had been aware of his own
extreme generosity in his efforts to forgive his nephew, that very
nephew had been laughing at him, in conjunction with the nephew of her
whom he had intended to make his wife! Not a shilling, again, should
ever be allowed to Harry Annesley. If it could be so arranged, by any
change of circumstances, he might even yet become the father of a family
of his own.

CHAPTER LI.

MR. PROSPER IS TAKEN ILL.

When Harry Annesley returned from Cheltenham, which he did about the
beginning of February, he was a very happy man. It may be said, indeed,
that within his own heart he was more exalted than is fitting for a man
mortal,--for a human creature who may be cut off from his joys to-morrow,
or may have the very source of his joy turned into sorrow. He walked
like a god, not showing it by his outward gesture, not declaring that it
was so by any