Creswell; as every tolerably successful man
can afford to be."

"I suppose you wonder how I found
your address?"

"Not the least in the world.
Unfortunately I know too well that it is in the
archives of the Post-Office Directory.
Behold the painful evidences of the fact!"
and he pointed to a table covered with
papers. "Petitions, begging letters, all
kinds of unreadable literature."

"Yes; but I don't study the Post-Office
Directory, as a rule."

"No; but you looked at it to-day,
because you had an object in view. Given
the object, you will not hesitate to depart
from your usual course, Mrs. Creswell."

"I will not pretend to ignore your
sarcasm, nor will I say whether it is
deserved or undeserved; though perhaps my
presence here just now should have
induced you to spare me."

"I did not mean to be sarcastic; I
simply gave utterance to a thought that
came into my mind. You said you came
on a matter of business? I must be rude
enough to remind you that I am very busy
just now."

"I will detain you a very short time;
but, in the first place, let us drop this
fencing. You know my husband is dead?"

Joyce bowed.

"And that I am left with a large, a
very large, fortune at my disposal?"

"I heard so, not merely when I was
down at Helmingham the other day, but
here in London. It is common talk."

"You were down in Helmingham the
other day? Ah, of course! However,
suppose I had come to you to say——–" and
she paused.

Joyce looked at her with great
composure. "To say!" he repeated.

"I must go through with it," she
muttered beneath her breath. "To say that
the memory of old days is always rising
in my mind, the sound of old words always
ringing in my ears, the remembrance of old
looks almost driving me mad! Suppose I
had come to say all this; and this besides,
share that fortune with me!"

"To say that to me!"

"To you!"

"It is excessively polite of you, and of
course I am very much flattered, necessarily.
But, Mrs. Creswell, there is one
thing that would prevent my accepting
your very generous offer."

"And that is——–"

"I am engaged to be married."

"I had heard some report of that kind;
but, knowing you as I do, I had set very
little store by it. Walter Joyce, I have
followed your fortunes, so far as they have
been made public, for many months, and
I have seen how, step by step, you have
pushed yourself forward. You have done
well, very well; but there is a future for
you far beyond your present, if you but
take advantage of the opportunity which I
now offer you. With the fortune which
I offer you—a fortune, mind; not a few
thousand pounds such as you are anticipating
with Maud Creswell, but with a
fortune at your back, and your talents, you
may do anything; there is no position which
might not be open to you."

"You are drawing a tempting picture."

"I am drawing a true one; for in addition
to your own brains, you would have
those of a woman to aid you: a woman,
mind, who has done for herself what she
proposes to do for you; who has raised
herself to the position she always longed
for—a woman with skill to scheme, and
courage to carry out. Do you follow me?"

"Perfectly."

"And you agree?"

"I think not. I'm afraid it's impossible.
I know it's not an argument that will weigh
with you at all, or that, perhaps, you will
be able to understand; but you see, my
word is pledged to this young lady."

"Is that all? I should think some means
might be found to compensate the young
lady for her loss."

Walter Joyce's face was growing very
dark, but Marian did not perceive it.

"No, it is not all," he said, coldly; "the
thing would be impossible, even if that
reason did not exist."

She saw that her shaft had missed its
mark, but she was determined to bring him
down, so tried another.

"Ah, Walter," she said, "do you answer
me like this? In memory of the dear old
days——–"

"Stop!" he cried, bringing his hand
down heavily on the writing-table before
him, and springing to his feet. "Stop!"
he cried, in a voice very different from the
cold polite tone in which he had hitherto
spoken: "don't name those times, or what
passed in them, for in your mouth such
allusions would be almost blasphemy.
Marian Creswell—and the mere fact that I
have to call you by that name ought to
have told you what would be my answer
to your proposition before you came here—
perhaps if I were starving I might take an
alms of you, but under no other
circumstance would I touch a farthing of that