arried
for love--you have a happy home, a charming wife--this is better than a
title and a fine lady."

"Mr. Lumley Ferrers, you may spare me your consolations. My wife--"

"Loves you dearly, I dare say," said the imperturbable nephew. "She has
so much sentiment, is so fond of poetry. Oh, yes, she must love one who
has done so much for her."

"Done so much; what do you mean?"

"Why, with your fortune--your station--your just ambition--you,
who might have married any one; nay, by remaining unmarried, have
conciliated all my interested, selfish relations--hang them--you have
married a lady without connections--and what more could you do for her?"

"Pooh, pooh; you don't know all."

Here Templeton stopped short, as if about to say too much, and frowned;
then, after a pause, he resumed, "Lumley, I have married, it is true.
You may not be my heir, but I will make it up to you--that is, if you
deserve my affection."

"My dear unc--"

"Don't interrupt me, I have projects for you. Let our interests be
the same. The title may yet descend to you. I may have no male
offspring--meanwhile, draw on me to any reasonable amount--young men
have expenses--but be prudent, and if you want to get on in the world,
never let the world detect you in a scrape. There, leave me now."

"My best, my heartfelt thanks!"

"Hush--sound Lord Saxingham again; I must and will have this bauble--I
have set my heart on it." So saying, Templeton waved away his nephew,
and musingly pursued his path towards Hyde Park Corner, where his
carriage awaited him. As soon as he entered his demesnes, he saw
his wife's daughter running across the lawn to greet him. His heart
softened; he checked the carriage and descended: he caressed her, he
played with her, he laughed as she laughed. No parent could be more
fond.

"Lumley Ferrers has talent to do me honour," said he, anxiously, "but
his principles seem unstable. However, surely that open manner is the
sign of a good heart."

Meanwhile, Ferrers, in high spirits, took his way to Ernest's house. His
friend was not at home, but Ferrers never wanted a host's presence in
order to be at home himself. Books were round him in abundance, but
Ferrers was not one of those who read for amusement. He threw himself
into an easy-chair, and began weaving new meshes of ambition and
intrigue. At length the door opened, and Maltravers entered.

"Why, Ernest, how ill you are looking!"

"I have not been well, but I am now