best of times should be more careful to avoid whatever tends to make it
worse;" and as Pennroyal said this he glanced significantly at the
decanter--of which, to do him justice, he was very sparing himself.

"Pennroyal!" said the old baronet, drawing himself up with a good deal of
dignity, "your father and I were friends before you were born, and you're
my brother-in-law; but if you were not sitting at my table, I'd teach you
better manners than to lecture your elders. I said I should like to see
the scoundrel who would dare to marry Kate Battledown--and--and what is
that to you?"

"Well, it's just this," returned Pennroyal, quietly; "I'm going to marry
her myself!"

Sir Clarence started up from his chair with a tremendous oath--and sat down
again. He was putting a terrible restraint upon himself. Not for his life
would he outrage the guest who was beneath his roof. His face became dark
red, and the veins on his forehead and in his neck stood out and throbbed
visibly. His eyes were fixed staringly upon the impassable visage of the
Honorable Richard, and he drew his breath with difficulty. There was a
pause of some duration, broken only by this stertorous breathing, and by
the deliberate cracking of the guest's filberts. At last, with a tragic
effort of courtesy that was almost grotesque, the poor gentleman pushed
the decanter toward his brother-in-law and deadly enemy, accompanying the
act by a rattling sound in the throat, probably intended as an invitation
to help himself. But the struggle was too severe. The next moment the
baronet's eyes rolled wildly, a gasping noise broke from him, and he fell
forward with his head on the table.

Mr. Pennroyal promptly arose and rang the bell. "Send for the doctor at