however, the barren soil of their ambition affords scant nourishment.

The John Ingerfield of this story is a man very typical of his race.
He has discovered that the oil and tallow refining business, though
not a pleasant one, is an exceedingly lucrative one. These are the
good days when George the Third is king, and London is rapidly
becoming a city of bright night. Tallow and oil and all materials
akin thereto are in ever-growing request, and young John Ingerfield
builds himself a large refining house and warehouse in the growing
suburb of Limehouse, which lies between the teeming river and the
quiet fields, gathers many people round about him, puts his strong
heart into his work, and prospers.

All the days of his youth he labours and garners, and lays out and
garners yet again. In early middle age he finds himself a wealthy
man. The chief business of life, the getting of money, is
practically done; his enterprise is firmly established, and will
continue to grow with ever less need of husbandry. It is time for
him to think about the secondary business of life, the getting
together of a wife and home, for the Ingerfields have ever been good
citizens, worthy heads of families, openhanded hosts, making a brave
show among friends and neighbours.

John Ingerfield, sitting in his stiff, high-backed chair, in his
stiffly, but solidly, furnished dining-room, above his counting-
house, sipping slowly his one glass of port, takes counsel with
himself.

What shall she be?