came tame, and the happy lover soon escaped from the
house into the street. When there he found very much to occupy his
mind. He had certainly made his resolution at last, and had done so
in a manner which would now leave him no power of retrogression. The
whole theory of his life had,--with a vengeance,--been thrown to the
winds. "The little place abroad,"--or elsewhere,--was now a settled
certainty. He had nearly got the better of her. He had all but
succeeded in putting down his own love and hers by a little gentle
ridicule, and by a few half-wise phrases which she at the moment had
been unable to answer; but she now had in truth vanquished him by the
absolute sincerity of her love.

CHAPTER XLII.

ANOTHER DUEL.

Frank Houston on that Sunday afternoon became an altered man. The
reader is not to suppose by this that he is declared to have suddenly
thrown off all his weaknesses, and to have succeeded in clothing
himself in an armour of bright steel, proof for the rest of his life
against all temptations. Such suits of armour are not to be had at
a moment's notice; nor, as I fear, can a man ever acquire one quite
perfect at all points who has not begun to make it for himself before
Houston's age. But he did on that day dine off the two mutton chops,
and comforted himself with no more than the half-pint of sherry. It
was a great beginning. Throughout the whole evening he could not be
got for a moment to join any of the club juntas which were discussing
the great difficulty of the contumacious gentleman. "I think he
must really be going to be married at last!" one club pundit said
when a question was asked as to Houston's singular behaviour on the
occasion.

He was indeed very sober,--so sober that he left the smoking-room
as soon as his one silent cigar was finished, and went out alone in
order that he might roam the streets in thoughtful solitude. It was
a clear frosty night, and as he buttoned his great coat around him
he felt that the dry cold air would do him good, and assist his
meditations. At last then everything was arranged for him, and he was
to encounter exactly that mode of life which he had so often told
himself to be most unfit for him. There were to be the cradles always
full, and his little coffer so nearly empty! And he had done it
all for himself. She, Imogene, had proposed a mode of life to him
which would at any rate have saved him from this; but it had been
impossible that he should acc