say anything against them. They knew
nothing about it."

"But the young fellow knew them? Ah, yes, I see all about it. He
wants to step into your shoes. I can't say that he sets about it in a
bad way. But what do you mean to do?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing! Won't that look queer? I think I should have him before the
magistrates."

"You see, Butterwell, I am bound to spare that girl's name. I know I
have behaved badly."

"Well, yes; I fear you have."

Mr Butterwell said this with some considerable amount of decision in
his voice, as though he did not intend to mince matters, or in any
way to hide his opinion. Crosbie had got into a way of condemning
himself in this matter of his marriage, but was very anxious that
others, on hearing such condemnation from him, should say something
in the way of palliating his fault. It would be so easy for a friend
to remark that such little peccadilloes were not altogether uncommon,
and that it would sometimes happen in life that people did not know
their own minds. He had hoped for some such benevolence from Fowler
Pratt, but had hoped in vain. Butterwell was a good-natured, easy
man, anxious to stand well with all about him, never pretending to
any very high tone of feeling or of morals; and yet Butterwell would
say no word of comfort to him. He could get no one to slur over his
sin for him, as though it were no sin,--only an unfortunate mistake;
no one but the de Courcys, who had, as it were, taken, possession of
him and swallowed him alive.

"It can't be helped now," said Crosbie. "But as for that fellow who
made such a brutal attack on me the other morning, he knows that he
is safe behind her petticoats. I can do nothing which would not make
some mention of her name necessary."

"Ah, yes; I see," said Butterwell. "It's very unfortunate; very. I
don't know that I can do anything for you. Will you come before the
Board to-day?"

"Yes; of course I shall," said Crosbie, who was becoming very
sore. His sharp ear had told him that all Butterwell's respect and
cordiality were gone,--at any rate for the time. Butterwell, though
holding the higher official rank, had always been accustomed to treat
him as though he, the inferior, were to be courted. He had possessed,
and had known himself to possess, in his office as well as in the
outside world, a sort of rank much higher than that which from his
position he could claim legitimately. Now he was being deposed. There
could be no bet