does the imagination while we are
asleep. Away, then, ye idle brood! I will none of you."

He then sat himself down on the sofa, and rang for Gibson, but still the
train of thought pursued him.

"As to Lucy, I think it is still possible to force her into the position
for which I destined her--quite possible. She reasons like a girl, of
course, as I told her. She reasons like a girl who looks upon that
silly nonsense called love as the great business of life; and acts
accordingly. Little she thinks, however, that love--her love--his
love--both their loves--will never meet twelve months after what is
termed the honey-moon. No, they will part north and south. And yet the
honey-moon has her sharp ends, as well as every other moon. When love
passes away, she will find that the great business of life is, to make
as many as she can feel that she is above them in the estimation of the
world; to impress herself upon her equals, until they shall be forced to
acknowledge her superiority. And although this may be sometimes done by
intellect and principle, yet, in the society in which she must move,
it is always done by rank, by high position, and by pride, that jealous
vindictive pride which is based upon the hatred of our kind, and at once
smiles and scorns. What would I be if I were not a baronet? Sir Thomas
Gourlay passes where Mr. Gourlay would be spurned. This is the game
of life, and we shall play it with the right weapons. Many a cringing
scoundrel bows to the baronet who despises the man; and for this reason
it is that I have always made myself to be felt to some purpose, and so
shall Lucy, if I should die for it. I hate society, because I know that
society hates me; and for that reason I shall so far exalt her, that she
will have the base compound at her feet, and I shall teach her to scorn
and trample upon it. If I thought there were happiness in any particular
rank of life, I would not press her; but I know there is not, and for
that reason she loses nothing, and gains the privilege--the power--of
extorting homage from the proud, the insolent, and the worthless. This
is the triumph she shall and must enjoy."

Gibson then entered, and the baronet, on hearing his foot, threw himself
into a languid and invalid attitude.

"Gibson," said he, "I am very unwell; I apprehend a serious attack of
illness."

"I trust not, sir."

"If any person should call, I am ill, observe, and not in a condition to
see them."

"Very well