knew the whole story, and none spoke of it now; but his sisters
remembered that Willy had fallen in love with a girl whom he had seen
play "Sweet Anne Page." They remembered long letters, tears and wild
looks. He had sent her diamonds; and one night he had attempted
suicide. All was now forgotten; at least it was the past, and nothing
remained but one little melody which he had heard her sing, and which
he sometimes whistled out of tune.

But sooner or later a man's talents, and if not his talents, his
tastes, appear through the mists of youth, and henceforth they lead
him. Willy's efforts in society had resulted in abortive dinner-
parties, his efforts in sport had been cut short by nerves, his
efforts in dissipation had left him with a tolerably well-filled
wardrobe, his efforts in love had brought him tears and a commonplace
mistress, whom he kept in the necessaries of life in various lodging-
houses. So his youth had passed; but in all this mediocrity a certain
spirit of resistance endured. His taste for figures grew more
pronounced; he surrounded himself with account books, letter books,
and diaries; he took note of every penny that passed through his
hands. Money-making, profitable investments--that was to be his aim in
life; and as each year closed his thoughts fixed themselves more
definitely and entirely on it; and it was natural that it should be
so, since all other outlets for the passion of life were barred to
him. His forced retirement from the distillery did not worry him. No
one could please his father in business; his uncle had once threatened
to throw his brother out of the window. Besides, the business was a
declining one, and twelve thousand pounds for a junior partnership was
not bad. Nor did his failure to make a success of the manure agency
discourage him; the shop was a different matter, that was his own
idea, he had thought of a fortune, and had lost two thousand pounds.