ed and indignant letter which had
been written at the club, and Cousin George hesitated as to that
other letter which his friend was to dictate for him. Consequently it
became necessary that Sir Harry should leave London before the matter
was settled. In truth the old Baronet liked the grandly worded and
indignant letter. It was almost such a letter as a Hotspur should
write on such an occasion. There was an admission of pecuniary
weakness which did not quite become a Hotspur, but otherwise the
letter was a good letter. Before he left London he took the letter
with him to Mr. Boltby, and on his way thither could not refrain from
counting up all the good things which would befall him and his if
only this young man might be reclaimed and recast in a mould such as
should fit the heir of the Hotspurs. He had been very bad,--so bad
that when Sir Harry counted up his sins they seemed to be as black
as night. And then, as he thought of them, the father would declare
to himself that he would not imperil his daughter by trusting her
to one who had shown himself to be so evil. But again another mode
of looking at it all would come upon him. The kind of vice of which
George had been undoubtedly guilty was very distasteful to Sir Harry;
it had been ignoble and ungentlemanlike vice. He had been a liar,
and not only a gambler, but a professional gambler. He had not
simply got into debt, but he had got into debt in a fashion that was
fraudulent;--so at least Sir Harry thought. And yet, need it be said
that this reprobate was beyond the reach of all forgiveness? Had not
men before him done as bad, and yet were brought back within the pale
of decent life? In this still vacillating mood of mind Sir Harry
reached his lawyer's. Mr. Boltby did not vacillate at all. When he
was shown the letter he merely smiled.

"I don't think it is a bad letter," said Sir Harry.

"Words mean so little, Sir Harry," said Mr. Boltby, "and come so
cheap."

Sir Harry turned the letter over in his hand and frowned; he did not
quite like to be told even by his confidential lawyer that he was
mistaken. Unconsciously he was telling himself that after all George
Hotspur had been born a gentleman, and that therefore, underlying all
the young man's vileness and villany there must be a substratum of
noble soil of which the lawyer perhaps knew nothing. Mr. Boltby saw
that his client was doubting, and having given much trouble to the
matter, and not being afraid of S