r father, than it would have entered Esther's to dispute the commands
of Ahasuerus. The heir-apparent of the house of Foker was also obedient,
for when the old gentleman said, "Harry, your uncle and I have agreed
that when you're of a proper age, you'll marry Lady Ann. She won't have
any money, but she's good blood, and a good one to look at, and I shall
make you comfortable. If you refuse, you'll have your mother's jointure,
and two hundred a year during my life"--Harry, who knew that his sire,
though a man of few words, was yet implicitly to be trusted, acquiesced
at once in the parental decree, and said, "Well, sir, if Ann's
agreeable, I say ditto. She's not a bad-looking girl."

"And she has the best blood in England, sir. Your mother's blood, your
own blood, sir," said the Brewer. "There's nothing like it, sir."

"Well, sir, as you like it," Harry replied. "When you want me, please
ring the bell. Only there's no hurry, and I hope you'll give us a long
day. I should like to have my fling out before I marry."

"Fling away, Harry," answered the benevolent father. "Nobody prevents
you, do they?" And so very little more was said upon this subject, and
Mr. Harry pursued those amusements in life which suited him best; and
hung up a little picture of his cousin in his sitting-room, amidst
the French prints, the favourite actresses and dancers, the racing and
coaching works of art, which suited his taste and formed his gallery.
It was an insignificant little picture, representing a simple round face
with ringlets; and it made, as it must be confessed, a very poor
figure by the side of Mademoiselle Petitot, dancing over a rainbow, or
Mademoiselle Redowa, grinning in red boots and a lancer's cap.

Being engaged and disposed of, Lady Ann Milton did not go out so much
in the world as her sisters: and often stayed at home in London at the
parental house in Gaunt Square, when her mamma with the other ladies
went abroad. They talked and they danced with one man after another,
and the men came and went, and the stories about them were various. But
there was only this one story about Ann: she was engaged to Harry Foker:
she never was to think about anybody else. It was not a very amusing
story.

Well, the instant Foker awoke on the day after Lady Clavering's dinner,
there was Blanche's image glaring upon him with its clear grey eyes, and
winning smile. There was her tune ringing in his ears, "Yet round about
the spot, ofttimes I