haracters he had read of in books, the victim of a fatality?
The slightest circumstances conspired to heighten his interest in
Sally--just at the time when Regina had once more disappointed him.
He was as firmly convinced, as if he had been the strictest moralist
living, that it was an insult to Regina, and an insult to his own
self-respect, to set the lost creature whom he had rescued in any light
of comparison with the young lady who was one day to be his wife. And
yet, try as he might to drive her out, Sally kept her place in his
thoughts. There was, apparently, some innate depravity in him. If a
looking-glass had been handed to him at that moment, he would have been
ashamed to look himself in the face.

After walking until he was weary, he went to his club.

The porter gave him a letter as he crossed the hall. Mrs. Farnaby had
kept her promise, and had written to him. The smoking-room was deserted
at that time of day. He opened his letter in solitude, looked at it,
crumpled it up impatiently, and put it into his pocket. Not even Mrs.
Farnaby could interest him at that critical moment. His own affairs
absorbed him. The one idea in his mind, after what he had heard about
Sally, was the idea of making a last effort to hasten the date of his
marriage before Mr. Farnaby left England. "If I can only feel sure of
Regina--"

His thoughts went no further than that. He walked up and down the
empty smoking-room, anxious and irritable, dissatisfied with himself,
despairing of the future. "I can but try it!" he suddenly decided--and
turned at once to the table to write a letter.

Death had been busy with the members of his family in the long interval
that had passed since he and his father left England. His nearest
surviving relative was his uncle--his father's younger brother--who
occupied a post of high importance in the Foreign Office. To this
gentleman he now wrote, announcing his arrival in England, and his
anxiety to qualify himself for employment in a Government office. "Be so
good as to grant me an interview," he concluded; "and I hope to satisfy
you that I am not unworthy of your kindness, if you will exert your
influence in my favour."

He sent away his letter at once by a private messenger, with
instructions to wait for an answer.

It was not without doubt, and even pain, that he had opened
communication with a man whose harsh treatment of his father it was
impossible for him to forget. What could the son expec