the whole Burton family, and that, perhaps, he must take some means to
let that fact be known. "Theodore," as he had so often heard the younger
Mr. Burton called by loving lips, seemed to claim him as his own, called
him Harry, and upbraided him with friendly warmth for not having come
direct to his--Mr. Burton's house-in Onslow Crescent. "Pray feel
yourself at home there," said Mr. Burton. "I hope you'll like my wife.
You needn't be afraid of being made to be idle if you spend your
evenings there, for we are all reading people. Will you come and dine
to-day?" Florence had told him that she was her brother Theodore's
favorite sister, and that Theodore as a husband and a brother, and a
man, was perfect. But Theodore had dusted his boots with his
handkerchief, and Harry Clavering would not dine with him on that day.

And then it was perfectly manifest to him that every one in the office
knew his destiny with reference to old Burton's daughter. He had been
one of the Stratton men, and no more than any other had he gone
unscathed through the Stratton fire. He had been made to do the regular
thing, as Granger, Scarness, and others had done it. Stratton would be
safer ground now, as Clavering had taken the last. That was the feeling
on the matter which seemed to belong to others. It was not that Harry
thought in this way of his own Florence. He knew well enough what a
lucky fellow he was to have won such a girl He was well aware how widely
his Florence differed from Carry Scarness. He denied to himself
indignantly that he had any notion of repenting what he had done. But he
did wish that these private matters might have remained private, and
that all the men at Beilby's had not known of his engagement. When
Walliker, on the fourth day of their acquaintance, asked him if it was
all right at Stratton, he made up his mind that he hated Walliker, and
that he would hate Walliker to the last day of his life. He had declined
the first invitation given to him by Theodore Burton; but he could not