r have been without any.'

'I hope,' he answered, shrugging his shoulders meekly, 'I have a little;
I hope, a very little--Heaven knows! But to return to Ned; I have no
doubt you thought, and therefore interfered benevolently in his behalf,
that I objected to Miss Haredale. How very natural! My dear madam, I
object to him--to him--emphatically to Ned himself.'

Mrs Varden was perfectly aghast at the disclosure.

'He has, if he honourably fulfils this solemn obligation of which I have
told you--and he must be honourable, dear Mrs Varden, or he is no son
of mine--a fortune within his reach. He is of most expensive, ruinously
expensive habits; and if, in a moment of caprice and wilfulness, he
were to marry this young lady, and so deprive himself of the means
of gratifying the tastes to which he has been so long accustomed, he
would--my dear madam, he would break the gentle creature's heart. Mrs
Varden, my good lady, my dear soul, I put it to you--is such a sacrifice
to be endured? Is the female heart a thing to be trifled with in this
way? Ask your own, my dear madam. Ask your own, I beseech you.'

'Truly,' thought Mrs Varden, 'this gentleman is a saint. But,' she added
aloud, and not unnaturally, 'if you take Miss Emma's lover away, sir,
what becomes of the poor thing's heart then?'

'The very point,' said Mr Chester, not at all abashed, 'to which I
wished to lead you. A marriage with my son, whom I should be compelled
to disown, would be followed by years of misery; they would be
separated, my dear madam, in a twelvemonth. To break off this
attachment, which is more fancied than real, as you and I know very
well, will cost the dear girl but a few tears, and she is happy again.
Take the case of your own daughter, the young lady downstairs, who is
your breathing image'--Mrs Varden coughed and simpered--'there is a
young man (I am sorry to say, a dissolute fellow, of very
indifferent character) of whom I have heard Ned speak--Bullet was
it--Pullet--Mullet--'

'There is a young man of the name of Joseph Willet, sir,' said Mrs
Varden, folding her hands loftily.

'That's he,' cried Mr Chester. 'Suppose this Joseph Willet now, were to
aspire to the affections of your charming daughter, and were to engage
them.'

'It would be like his impudence,' interposed Mrs Varden, bridling, 'to
dare to think of such a thing!'

'My dear madam, that's the whole case. I know it would be like his
impudence. It is like Ned's impudence