head propped on his
hand, he said gravely:

'I wonder whether this is the last walk we shall have together?'

'Who can say?' she answered in a light tone.

'Some one ought to be able to say.'

'I never make prophecies, and never believe other people's.'

'Shows your good sense. But _I_ make wishes, and plenty of them.'

'So do I,' said Nancy.

'Then let us both make a wish to ourselves,' proposed Crewe, regarding
her with eyes that had an uncommon light in them.

His companion laughed, then both were quiet for a moment.

They allowed themselves plenty of time to battle their way as far
as Westminster Bridge. At one point police and crowd were in brief
conflict; the burly guardians of order dealt thwacking blows, right and
left, sound fisticuffs, backed with hearty oaths. The night was young;
by magisterial providence, hours of steady drinking lay before the
hardier jubilants. Thwacks and curses would be no rarity in another hour
or two.

At the foot of Parliament Street, Nancy came face to face with Samuel
Barmby, on whose arm hung the wearied Jessica. Without heeding their
exclamations, she turned to her protector and bade him a hearty
good-night. Crewe accepted his dismissal. He made survey of Barmby, and
moved off singing to himself, '_Do not forget me--do not forget me_--'

Part II: Nature's Graduate

CHAPTER 1

The disorder which Stephen Lord masked as a 'touch of gout' had in
truth a much more disagreeable name. It was now twelve months since his
doctor's first warning, directed against the savoury meats and ardent
beverages which constituted his diet; Stephen resolved upon a change
of habits, but the flesh held him in bondage, and medical prophecy was
justified by the event. All through Jubilee Day he suffered acutely;
for the rest of the week he remained at home, sometimes sitting in the
garden, but generally keeping his room, where he lay on a couch.

A man of method and routine, sedentary, with a strong dislike of
unfamiliar surroundings, he could not be persuaded to try change of
air. The disease intensified his native stubbornness, made him by turns
fretful and furious, disposed him to a sullen solitude. He would accept
no tendance but that of Mary Woodruff; to her, as to his children, he
kept up the pretence of gout. He was visited only by Samuel Barmby, with
whom he discussed details of business, and by Mr. Barmby, senior, his
friend of thirty years, the one man to whom he u