and that Monk was still the family name.

Now they were all dead and gone, and their history, which was
undistinguished, does not matter. To come to the present day. His father
succeeded to a diminished and encumbered estate; indeed, had it not been
for the fortune of his mother, a Miss Porson and one of a middle class
and business, but rather wealthy family, the property must have been
sold years before. That fortune, however, had long ago been absorbed--or
so he gathered--for his father, a brilliant and fashionable army
officer, was not the man to stint himself or to nurse a crippled
property. Indeed, it was wonderful to Morris how, without any particular
change in their style of living, which, if unpretentious, was not cheap,
in these bad times they had managed to keep afloat at all.

Unworldly as Morris might be, he could easily guess why his father
wished that he should marry, and marry well. It was that he might
bolster up the fortunes of a shattered family. Also--and this touched
him, this commanded his sympathy--he was the last of his race. If
he died without issue the ancient name of Monk became extinct, a
consummation from which his father shrank with something like horror.

The Colonel was a selfish man--Morris could not conceal it, even from
himself--one who had always thought of his own comfort and convenience
first. Yet, either from idleness or pride, to advance these he had
never stooped to scheme. Where the welfare of his family was concerned,
however, as his son knew, he was a schemer. That desire was the one
real and substantial thing in a somewhat superficial, egotistic, and
finessing character.

Morris saw it all as he leaned there upon the railing, staring at the