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ont. It is a starlight night," said Mr. Yorke. They passed out, closing the front door after them, and side by side paced the frost-white pavement to and fro. "Settle about Farren at once," urged Mr. Moore. "You have large fruit-gardens at Yorke Mills. He is a good gardener. Give him work there." "Well, so be it. I'll send for him to-morrow, and we'll see. And now, my lad, you're concerned about the condition of your affairs?" "Yes, a second failure--which I may delay, but which, at this moment, I see no way finally to avert--would blight the name of Moore completely; and you are aware I had fine intentions of paying off every debt and re-establishing the old firm on its former basis." "You want capital--that's all you want." "Yes; but you might as well say that breath is all a dead man wants to live." "I know--I know capital is not to be had for the asking; and if you were a married man, and had a family, like me, I should think your case pretty nigh desperate; but the young and unencumbered have chances peculiar to themselves. I hear gossip now and then about your being on the eve of marriage with this miss and that; but I suppose it is none of it true?" "You may well suppose that. I think I am not in a position to be dreaming of marriage. Marriage! I cannot bear the word; it sounds so silly and utopian. I have settled it decidedly that marriage and love are superfluities, intended only for the rich, who live at ease, and have no need to take thought for the morrow; or desperations--the last and reckless joy of the deeply wretched, who never hope to rise out of the slough of their utter poverty." "I should not think so if I were circumstanced as you are. I should think I could very likely get a wife with a few thousands, who would suit both me and my affairs." "I wonder where?" "Would you try if you had a chance?" "I don't know. It depends on--in short, it depends on many things." "Would you take an old woman?" "I'd rather break stones on the road." "So would I. Would you take an ugly one?" "Bah! I hate ugliness and delight in beauty. My eyes and heart, Yorke, take pleasure in a sweet, young, fair face, as they are repelled by a grim, rugged, meagre one. Soft delicate lines and hues please, harsh ones prejudice me. I won't have an ugly wife." "Not if she were rich?" "Not if she were dressed in gems. I could not love--I could not fancy--I could not endure her. My taste must ha
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