to view, but still a hope: especially,
since very civil answers came to his request, couched in terms of
official guardedness. He had called anxiously upon "old friends," in
pretty much of his usual elegant dress (for he was wise enough, or proud
enough, never to let his poverty be seen in his attire), and they made
many polite inquiries after "Mrs. Clements," and "Where are you living?"
and "How is it you never come our way?" and "Clements has cut us all
dead," and so forth. It was really entirely his own fault, but he never
could contrive to tell the truth: and when one day, in a careless tone
of voice, he threw out something about "Do you happen to have ten pounds
about you?" to a dashing young blood of his acquaintance--the dashing
young blood affected to treat it as a joke--"You married men, lucky
dogs, with your regular establishments, are too hard upon us poor
bachelors, who have nothing but clubs to go to. I give you my honour,
Clements, ten pounds would dine me for a fortnight:--spare me this time,
there's a fine fellow: take the trouble to write a cheque on your
bankers--here's paper--and my tiger shall get it cashed for you while
you wait: we poor bachelors are never flush." But Clements had already
owned it was a mere "_obiter dictum_,"--nothing but a joke of prudent
marriage against extravagant bachelorship.

Ah, what a bitter joke was that! On the verge of that yes or no, to be
uttered by his frank young friend, trembled reluctant honour;
home-affections were imploring in that careless tone of voice; hunger
put that off-hand question. It was vain; a cruel killing effort for his
pride: so Henry Clements never asked again; withdrew himself from
friends; grew hopeless, all but reckless; and his only means of living
were picked up scantily from the by-ways of literature. An occasional
guinea from a magazine, a copy of that luckily anonymous tragedy now and
then sold by him from house to house (he always disguised himself at
such times), a little indexing to be done for publishers, and a little
correcting of the press for printers--these formed the trifling and
uncertain pittance upon which the pale family existed. Poor Henry
Clements, proud Henry Clements, you had, indeed, a dose of physic for
your pride: bitter draughts, bitter draughts, day after day; but, for
all that weak and wasted wife, dearly, devotedly beloved; for all the
pining infant, with its angel face and beautiful smiles: for all the
strong ple