malignant eye at the innocent Mr. Wilks, and wondered at what age men
discarded the useless habit of blushing. Opposite him sat Miss Nugent,
calmly observant, the slightest suggestion of disdain in her expression.
Framed in the queer, high-backed old chair which had belonged to Mr.
Wilks's grandfather, she made a picture at which Jem Hardy continued to
gaze with respectful ardour. A hopeless sense of self-depreciation
possessed him, but the idea that Murchison should aspire to so much
goodness and beauty made him almost despair of his sex. His reverie was
broken by the voice of Mr. Wilks.

"A quarter to eight?" said that gentleman in-credulously; "it can't be."

"I thought it was later than that," said Hardy, simply.

Mr. Wilks gasped, and with a faint shake of his head at the floor
abandoned the thankless task of giving hints to a young man who was too
obtuse to see them; and it was not until some time later that Mr. Hardy,
sorely against his inclinations, gave his host a hearty handshake and,
with a respectful bow to Miss Nugent, took his departure.

"Fine young man he's growed," said Mr. Wilks, deferentially, turning to
his remaining visitor; "greatly improved, I think."

Miss Nugent looked him over critically before replying. "He seems to
have taken a great fancy to you," she remarked.

Mr. Wilks smiled a satisfied smile. "He came to ask my advice about
business," he said, softly. "He's 'eard two or three speak o' me as
knowing a thing or two, and being young, and just starting, 'e came to
talk it over with me. I never see a young man so pleased and ready to