r unfortunate letter to Dr. Pigrum. "The vulgarity of the people
of this town is quite unbearable," she exclaimed to Mrs. Green. But
when she was left alone she at once wrote a funnier letter than ever
to Sir Francis. It might be that Sir Francis should not see the
paragraph. At any rate she did not mention it.

But unfortunately Sir Francis did see the paragraph; and,
unfortunately also, he had not appreciated the wit of Miss
Altifiorla's letters. "Oh, laws!" he had been heard to ejaculate on
receipt of a former letter.

"It's the kind of thing a man has to put up with when he gets
married," said Captain McCollop, a gentleman who had already in some
sort succeeded Dick Ross.

"I don't suppose you think a man ever ought to be married."

"Quite the contrary. When a man has a property he must be married. I
suppose I shall have the McCollop acres some of these days myself."
The McCollop acres were said to lie somewhere in Caithness, but no
one knew their exact locality. "But a man will naturally put off the
evil day as long as he can. I should have thought that you might have
allowed yourself to run another five years yet." The flattery did
touch Sir Francis, and he began to ask himself whether he had gone
too far with Miss Altifiorla. Then came the "Western Telegraph," and
he told himself that he had gone too far.

"By G----, she has told everybody in that beastly hole," said he. The
"beastly hole" was intended to represent Exeter.

"Of course she has. You didn't suppose but that she would begin to
wear her honour and glory as soon as they were wearable."

"She pledged herself not to mention it to a single soul," said Sir
Francis. Upon this Captain McCollop merely shrugged his shoulders.
"I'm d----d if I put up with it. Look here! All her filthy
progenitors put into the newspaper to show how grand she is."

"I shouldn't care so very much about that," said the cautious
Captain, who began to perceive that he need not be specially bitter
against the lady.

"You're not going to marry her."

"Well, no; that's true."

"Nor am I," said Sir Francis with an air of great decision. "She
hasn't got a word of mine in writing to show,--not a word that would
go for anything with a jury."

"Hasn't she indeed?"

"Not a word. I have taken precious good care of that. Between you and
me, I don't mind acknowledging it. But it had never come to more than
that."

"Then in fact you are not bound to her."

"No; I am not;--not