at that moment. Never had the impenetrable
atmosphere of illusion through which women
behold the man of their choice—the atmosphere
which had blinded her to all that was weak,
selfish, and mean in Frank's nature—surrounded
him with a brighter halo than now, when she
was pleading with the father for the possession
of the son. "Oh, don't ask me to give him up!"
she said, trying to take courage, and shuddering
from head to foot. In the next instant, she
flew to the opposite extreme, with the suddenness
of a flash of lightning. "I won't give him
up!" she burst out violently. "No! not if a
thousand fathers ask me!"

"I am one father," said Mr. Clare. "And
I don't ask you."

In the first astonishment and delight of hearing
those unexpected words, she started to her
feet, crossed the room, and tried to throw her
arms round his neck. She might as well have
attempted to move the house from its foundations.
He took her by the shoulders, and put
her back in her chair. His inexorable eyes
looked her into submission; and his lean
forefinger shook at her warningly, as if he was
quieting a fractious child.

"Hug Frank," he said; "don't hug me. I
haven't done with you yet: when I have, you
may shake hands with me, if you like. Wait,
and compose yourself."

He left her. His hands went back into his
pockets, and his monotonous march up and down
the room began again.

"Ready?" he asked, stopping short after a
while. She tried to answer. "Take two
minutes more," he said, and resumed his walk
with the regularity of clockwork. "These are
the creatures," he thought to himself, "into
whose keeping men, otherwise sensible, give the
happiness of their lives. Is there any other
object in creation, I wonder, which answers its
end as badly as a woman does?"

He stopped before her once more. Her
breathing was easier; the dark flush on her
face was dying out again.

"Ready?" he repeated. "Yes; ready at
last. Listen to me; and let's get it over. I
don't ask you to give Frank up. I ask you to
wait."

"I will wait," she said. "Patiently, willingly."

"Will you make Frank wait?"

"Yes."

"Will you send him to China?"

Her head drooped on her bosom, and she
clasped her hands again, in silence. Mr. Clare
saw where the difficulty lay, and marched
straight up to it on the spot.

"I don't pretend to enter into your feelings
for Frank, or Frank's for you," he said. "The
subject doesn't interest me. But I do pretend
to state two plain truths. It is one plain truth
that you can't be married till you have money
enough to pay for the roof that shelters you, the
clothes that cover you, and the victuals you eat.
It is another plain truth that you can't find the
money; that I can't find the money; and that
Frank's only chance of finding it, is going
to China. If I tell him to go, he'll sit in a
corner and cry. If I insist, he'll say yes, and
deceive me. If I go a step farther, and see
him on board ship with my own eyes—he'll slip
off in the pilot's boat, and sneak back secretly
to you. That's his disposition."

"No!" said Magdalen. "It's not his
disposition: it's his love for Me."

"Call it what you like," retorted Mr. Clare.
"Sneak, or Sweetheart—he's too slippery, in
either capacity, for my fingers to hold him.
My shutting the door won't keep him from
coming back. Your shutting the door will.
Have you the courage to shut it? Are you
fond enough of him not to stand in his light?"

"Fond! I would die for him!"

"Will you send him to China?"

She sighed bitterly.

"Have a little pity for me," she said. "I
have lost my father; I have lost my mother; I
have lost my fortune—and now I am to lose
Frank. You don't like women, I know; but
try to help me with a little pity. I don't
say it's not for his own interests to send him
to China; I only say it's hard—very, very hard
on me."

Mr. Clare had been deaf to her violence,
insensible to her caresses, blind to her tears; but
under the tough integument of his philosophy,
he had a heart—and it answered that hopeless
appeal; it felt those touching words.

"I don't deny that your case is a hard one,"
he said. "I don't want to make it harder: I
only ask you to do, in Frank's interests, what
Frank is too weak to do for himself. It's no
fault of yours; it's no fault of mine—but it's
not the less true, that the fortune you were to
have brought him, has changed owners."

She suddenly looked up, with a furtive light
in her eyes, with a threatening smile on her
lips.

"It may change owners again," she said.

Mr. Clare saw the alteration in her expression,
and heard the tones of her voice. But the
words were spoken low; spoken as if to herself
—they failed to reach him across the breadth of
the room. He stopped instantly in his walk,
and asked what she had said.

"Nothing," she answered, turning her head
away towards the window, and looking out
mechanically at the falling rain. "Only my own
thoughts."

Mr. Clare resumed his walk, and returned to
his subject.

"It's your interest," he went on, "as well as
Frank's interest, that he should go. He may
make money enough to marry you in China; he
can't make it here. If he stops at home, he'll
be the ruin of both of you. He'll shut his eyes
to every consideration of prudence, and pester
you to marry him; and when he has carried his
point, he will be the first to turn round
afterwards, and complain that you're a burden on
him. Hear me out! You're in love with
Frank—I'm not, and I know him. Put you
two together often enough; give him time
enough to hug, cry, pester, and plead; and I'll