r abusing me, but you don't know what
it is I have suffered. As for being called a man I don't care about
it. What I should like best would be to get Ayala on one side and
Stubbs on the other, and then all three to go off the Duke of York's
Column together. It's no good talking about Travers and Treason. I
don't care for Travers and Treason as I am now. If you'll get Ayala
to say that she'll have me, I'll go to the shop every morning at
eight and stay till nine; and as for the Mountaineers it may all go
to the d---- for me." Then he rushed out of the room, banging the
door after him.

Sir Thomas, when he was thus left, stood for awhile with his hands
in his trousers' pockets, contemplating the condition of his son. It
was wonderful to him that a boy of his should be afflicted in this
manner. When he had been struck by the juvenile beauties of Emmeline
Dosett he had at once asked the young lady to share his fortunes with
him, and the young lady had speedily acceded to his request. Then he
had been married, and that was all he had ever known of the troubles
of love. He could not but think, looking back at it as he did now
from a distance, that had Emmeline been hard-hearted he would have
endured the repulse and have passed on speedily to some other
charmer. But Tom had been wounded after a fashion which seemed
to him to have been very uncommon. It might be possible that he
should recover in time, but while undergoing recovery he would be
ruined;--so great were the young man's sufferings! Now Sir Thomas,
though he had spoken to Tom with all the severity which he had been
able to assume, though he had abused Faddle, and had vindicated the
injured dignity of Travers and Treason with all his eloquence; though
he had told Tom it was unmanly to give way to his love, yet, of
living creatures, Tom was at this moment the dearest to his heart. He
had never for an instant entertained the idea of expelling Tom from
Travers and Treason because of the policeman, or because of Faddle.
What should he do for the poor boy now? Was there any argument, any
means of persuasion, by which he could induce that foolish little
girl to accept all the good things which he was ready to do for her?
Could he try yet once again himself, with any chance of success?

Thinking of all this, he stood there for an hour alone with his hands
in his trousers' pockets.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

ISADORE HAMEL IN LOMBARD STREET.

In following the results of