at to you, don't you see, it wipes it all out? Upon my soul! I
don't see why you should trouble your head about him. Let him take his
way, and go to--Sepia."

"But, sir, what a dreadful thing it would be, knowing what she is, to
let a man like him throw himself away on her!"

"I don't see it. I've no doubt he's just as bad as she is. We all are;
we're all the same. And, if he weren't, it would be the better joke.
Besides, you oughtn't to keep up a grudge, don't you know; you ought to
let the--the _woman_ have a chance. If he marries her--and that must be
her game this time--she'll grow decent, and be respectable ever after,
you may be sure--go to church, as you would have her, and all
that--never miss a Sunday, I'll lay you a thousand."

"He's of a good old family!" said Mary, foolishly, thinking that would
weigh with him.

"Good old fiddlestick! Damned old worn-out broom-end! _She's_ of a good
old family--quite good enough for his, you may take your oath! Why, my
girl! the thing's not worth burning your fingers with. You've brought
me here on a goose-errand. I'll go and have my lunch."

He rose.

"I'm sorry to have vexed you, sir," said Mary, greatly disappointed.

"Never mind.--I'm horribly sold," he said, with a tight grin. "I
thought you must have some good thing in hand to make it worth your
while to send for me."

"Then I must try something else," reflected Mary aloud.

"I wouldn't advise you. The man's only the surer to hate you and stick
to her. Let him alone. If he's a stuck-up fellow like that, it will
take him down a bit--when the truth comes out, that is, as come out it
must. There's one good thing in it, my wife'll get rid of her. But I
don't know! there's an enemy, as the Bible says, that sticketh closer
than a brother. And they'll be next door when Durnmelling is mine! But
I can sell it."

"If he _should_ come to you, will you tell him the truth?"

"I don't know that. It might spoil my own little game."

"Will you let him think me a liar and slanderer?"

"No, by Jove! I won't do that. I don't promise to tell him all the
truth, or even that what I do tell him shall be exactly true; but I
won't let him think ill of my little puritan; that would spoil _your_
game. Ta, ta!"

He went out, with his curious grin, amused, and enjoying the idea of a
proud fellow like that being taken in with Sepia.

"I hope devoutly he'll marry her!" he said to himself as he went to his
luncheon. "Then I shall h