rest of all ways to
prevent their marriage.

"And so you released her?" cried he, as Heathoote finished his
narrative.

"Released her! No. I never considered that she was bound. How could I?"

"Upon my conscience," muttered the O'Shea, "it is a hard case--a mighty
hard case--to see one's way in; for if, as you say, it's not a worthy
part for a man to compel a girl to be his wife Just because her father
put it in his will, it's very cruel to lose her only because she has a
fine property."

"It is for no such reason," broke in Heathoote, half angrily. "I was
unwilling--I am unwilling--that May Leslie should be bound by a contract
she never shared in.

"That's all balderdash!" cried O'Shea, with energy.

"What do you mean, sir?" retorted the other, passionately.

"What I mean is this," resumed he: "that it's all balder-dash to talk
of the hardship of doing things that we never planned out for ourselves.
Sure, ain't we doing them every moment of our lives? Ain't I doing
something because you contrived it? and ain't you doing something else
because I left it in your way?"

"It comes to this, then, that you 'd marry a girl who did n't care for
you, if the circumstances were such as to oblige her to accept you?"

"Not absolutely,--not unreservedly," replied O'Shea.

"Well, what is the reservation? Let us hear it."

"Her fortune ought to be suitable."

"Oh, this is monstrous!"

"Hear me out before you condemn me. In marriage, as in everything else,
you must take it out in malt or in meal: don't fancy that you 're going
to get love and money too. It's only in novels such luck exists."

"I'm very glad I do not share your sentiments," said Charles, sternly.

"They 're practical, anyway. But now to another point. Here we are,
sitting by the fire in all frankness and candor. Answer me fairly two
questions: Have you given up the race?"

"Yes."

"Well, then, have you any objection if I enter for the stakes myself?"

"You! Do you mean that you would propose for May Leslie?"

"I do; and, what's more, I don't despair of success, either."

An angry flush rose to Heathcote's face, and for a moment it seemed
as if his passion was about to break forth; but he mastered it, and,
rising slowly, said: "If I thought such a thing possible, it would very
soon cure me of _one_ sorrow." After a pause, he added: "As for _me_,
I have no permission to give or to withhold. Go, by all means, and make
your offer. I only ask one thi