to him dimly some
idea that they might give,--not pain, for as to that he would have
been indifferent,--but offence. "Will there be any good in all that?"
he asked.

"Certainly," said she. "You don't mean to whine and talk of your
broken heart."

"Oh dear, no; nothing of that sort."

"This is the manly way to put it, regarding the matter simply as an
affair of business."

"I believe it is," said he; and then, having picked himself up
somewhat by the aid of a glass of sherry, he continued to copy the
letter, and to direct it.

"I will keep the rough draft," said Mrs. Morton.

"And I must go now, I suppose," he said.

"You can stay here and see me eat my dinner if you like. I shall not
ask you to share it, because it consists of two small mutton chops,
and one wouldn't keep me up through Lady Teazle."

"I've a good mind to come and see you," said he.

"Then you'd better go and eat your own dinner at once."

"I don't care about my dinner. I should have a bit of supper
afterwards."

Then she preached to him a sermon; not quite such a one as Emily
Hotspur had preached, but much more practical, and with less
reticence. If he went on living as he was living now, he would "come
to grief." He was drinking every day, and would some day find that he
could not do so with impunity. Did he know what delirium tremens was?
Did he want to go to the devil altogether? Had he any hope as to his
future life?

"Yes," said he, "I hope to make you my wife." She tossed her head,
and told him that with all the will in the world to sacrifice
herself, such sacrifice could do him no good if he persisted in
making himself a drunkard. "But I have been so tried these last two
months. If you only knew what Mr. Boltby and Captain Stubber and Sir
Harry and Mr. Hart were altogether. Oh, my G----!" But he did not
say a word about Messrs. Walker and Bullbean. The poor woman who was
helping him knew nothing of Walker and Bullbean. Let us hope that she
may remain in that ignorance.

Cousin George, before he left her, swore that he would amend his mode
of life, but he did not go to see Lady Teazle that night. There were
plenty of men now back in town ready to play pool at the club.

CHAPTER XXIII.

"I SHALL NEVER BE MARRIED."

Sir Harry Hotspur returned to Humblethwaite before Cousin George's
letter was written, though when he did return all the terms had been
arranged, and a portion of the money paid. Perhaps it would have been