bad. Sir Harry was sick at heart as
he thought of the evil nature of the young man's vices. Of a man
debauched in his life, extravagant with his money, even of a gambler,
a drunkard, one fond of low men and of low women;--of one even such
as this there might be hope, and the vicious man, if he will give up
his vices, may still be loved and at last respected. But of a liar, a
swindler, one mean as well as vicious, what hope could there be? It
was essential to Sir Harry that the husband of his daughter should at
any rate be a gentleman. The man's blood, indeed, was good; and blood
will show at last, let the mud be ever so deep. So said Sir Harry to
himself. And Emily would consent that the man should be tried by what
severest fire might be kindled for the trying of him. If there were
any gold there, it might be possible to send the dross adrift, and
to get the gold without alloy. Could Lady Altringham have read Sir
Harry's mind as his carriage was pulled up, just at twelve o'clock,
at the door of the Penrith Crown, she would have been stronger than
ever in her belief that young lovers, if they be firm, can always
conquer opposing parents.

But alas, alas, there was no gold with this dross, and in that matter
of blood, as to which Sir Harry's ideas were so strong, and indeed
so noble, he entertained but a muddled theory. Noblesse oblige. High
position will demand, and will often exact, high work. But that rule
holds as good with a Buonaparte as with a Bourbon, with a Cromwell
as with a Stewart; and succeeds as often and fails as often with
the low born as with the high. And good blood too will have its
effect,--physical for the most part,--and will produce bottom,
lasting courage, that capacity of carrying on through the mud to
which Sir Harry was wont to allude; but good blood will bring no
man back to honesty. The two things together, no doubt, assist in
producing the highest order of self-denying man.

When Sir Harry got out of his carriage, he had not yet made up his
mind. The waiter had been told that he was expected, and showed him
up at once into the large sitting-room looking out into the street,
which Cousin George had bespoke for the occasion. He had had a
smaller room himself, but had been smoking there, and at this moment
in that room there was a decanter and a wine-glass on the chiffonier
in one corner. He had heard the bustle of the arrival, and had at
once gone into the saloon prepared for the reception of