ice. After ransacking his
papers for a long time, he found an old letter directed to him, in the
care of the firm, postmarked at Paris, with a French postage stamp upon
it. Into the envelope of this letter he thrust the translation which
Maggie had made.

The banker seated himself in his arm-chair, put his feet on the desk,
and lighted a cigar. Mr. Checkynshaw held to the pernicious belief that
smoking soothed the nerves of an excited man. He smoked and thought for
a while, till his meditations were disturbed by the entrance of Mrs.
Wittleworth and Fitz.

"I hope you will excuse me for coming again so soon, Mr. Checkynshaw,"
said Mrs. Wittleworth, timidly.

"I hope you'll excuse _me_ too," added Fitz, thrusting his thumbs into
the arm-holes of his vest, and pursing up his under lip, as he had a
habit of doing when he particularly realized his own importance.

He stood with his hat on his head--a narrow-brimmed "stove-pipe," which
young men were more in the habit of wearing at that period than at the
present time. He was the impersonation of impudence and self-conceit,
and the banker looked angry enough to annihilate him.

"I thought I would come and see if you had anything to show me from
Marguerite," continued Mrs. Wittleworth, after the banker had bestowed
a look of supreme contempt upon Fitz.

"I have something to show you," replied Mr. Checkynshaw, taking the old
envelope which contained Maggie's translation from his pocket, and
handing it to her.

Fitz was rather taken aback by this ready reply, and by the sight of
the musty envelope. His nether lip actually returned to its normal
position under the shock.

"This is from Marguerite--is it?" asked Mrs. "Wittleworth.

"It is from Marguerite," replied Mr. Checkynshaw.

"What is it, mother? Open it. Don't be humbugged," said Fitz.

The poor woman opened the letter, and looked blankly at its contents.

"It is in French," she added.

"Marguerite always writes her letters in French," added the banker.

"Because she knows you can't read a word of French," sneered Fitz.

"No impudence, young man!"

"Don't, Fitz!" pleaded Mrs. Wittleworth.

"Mr. Checkynshaw, this business must be settled between me and you. You
will not be permitted to take advantage of a woman's weakness to impose
upon her," added Fitz, magnificently.

"If you use any impudence in this office, young man, I shall kick you
out to-day as I did yesterday."

"Mr. Checkynshaw, I have my ow