able as a man can look,
which is saying a good deal,--"look here."

An ignominious break-down.

"I'm looking," says Clarissa, somewhat unkindly; "and I don't see
much."

"Well, 'tis this, you know. You won't think it queer of me, will you?"

"I won't; I promise that. Though I haven't the faintest idea whether I
shall or not."

"When she is getting her things, her _trousseau_,--I want her to have
every earthly thing she can possibly fancy," he says, at last,
desperately. "Can't you manage that for me? Do; and make any use you
like of this."

He flings a cheque-book into her lap through the open window as he
speaks.

"She shall have everything she wants," says Clarissa; "but I don't
think"--taking up the book--"we shall require this."

"Nevertheless, keep it. You must want it; and don't mention me in the
matter at all. And--look here again--what do you think she would like
as a wedding-present?"

Of course he has given her long ago the orthodox engagement ring, the
locket, the bracelet, and so forth.

"Why don't you ask her?" says Miss Peyton.

"Because the other day she said she adored surprises. And I am sure
she doesn't care about being asked what she likes."

"You have your mother's diamonds."

"Oh, of course"--airily--"all my mother's things will be hers; that
goes without telling; but I hate old rubbish. I want to give her
something from myself to wear on her marriage morning. Don't you see?
or is it that you grow imbecile in your old age, my good Clarissa?"

"No; it only means that you are growing extravagant in your dotage, my
good Dorian. Well, mention something, that I may object to it."

"Emeralds, then?"

"No: papa has set his heart on giving her those."

"Rubies?"

"Oh, nothing red: they would not suit her."

"Opals?"

"Too unlucky, she would die or run away from you."

"Pearls? But of course,"--quickly: "why did I not think of them
before?"

"Why, indeed? They will be charming. By the by, Dorian, have you told
Lord Sartoris of your engagement?"

Dorian's brow darkens.

"No. He has been from home, you know, either in Paris or the Libyan
desert, or somewhere. He only turned up again two days ago. Seen him
since?"

"He was here, but I was out. Have you seen him?"

"Well, yes,--at a distance."

"Dorian, there is certainly something wrong between you and Lord
Sartoris. I have noticed it for some time. I don't ask you what it is,
but I entreat you to break through this coldne