No, not to such men as he--poor, and without social
recommendations. Besides, he was growing too old. In literature,
as in most other pursuits, the press of energetic young men was
making it very hard for a veteran even to hold the little
grazing-plot he had won by hard fighting. Still, Quarmby's story
had not been without foundation; it was true that the proprietor
of The Study had for a moment thought of Alfred Yule, doubtless
as the natural contrast to Clement Fadge, whom he would have
liked to mortify if the thing were possible. But counsellors had
proved to Mr Rackett the disadvantages of such a choice.

Mrs Yule and her daughter foresaw but too well the results of
this disappointment, notwithstanding that Alfred announced it to
them with dry indifference. The month that followed was a time of
misery for all in the house. Day after day Yule sat at his meals
in sullen muteness; to his wife he scarcely spoke at all, and his
conversation with Marian did not go beyond necessary questions
and remarks on topics of business. His face became so strange a
colour that one would have thought him suffering from an attack
of jaundice; bilious headaches exasperated his savage mood. Mrs
Yule knew from long experience how worse than useless it was for
her to attempt consolation; in silence was her only safety. Nor
did Marian venture to speak directly of what had happened. But
one evening, when she had been engaged in the study and was now
saying 'Good-night,' she laid her cheek against her father's, an
unwonted caress which had a strange effect upon him. The
expression of sympathy caused his thoughts to reveal themselves
as they never yet had done before his daughter.

'It might have been very different with me,' he exclaimed