till you get married.
You wouldn't make nothin' at our business; 'tain't all sugar an' lemon,
an' sittin' drinkin' twos o' whisky till further orders. You want a
quiet, easy business, you do, an' you've got it. If you keep worritin'
yerself this way, you won't never make old bones, an' that's the truth.
You wait a bit, an' give yer cousin a chance to arst you,--if that's
what you're troublin' about."

"I've given him lots o' chances," said Harriet peevishly.

"Eh well, give him lots more, an' it'll all come right. We're all born,
but we're not buried.--Hev' another Irish?"

Harriet allowed herself to be persuaded to take another glass.

When the clock pointed to half-past nine, she rose and prepared to
depart. She had told Mrs. Sprowl that she would take the 'bus and go
straight home; but something seemed to have led her to alter her
purpose, for she made her way to Westminster Bridge, and crossed the
river. Then she made some inquiries of a policeman, and, in
consequence, got into a Kennington omnibus. Very shortly she was set
down close by Walcot Square. She walked about till, with some
difficulty in the darkness, she had discovered the number at which
Julian had told her his friend lived. The house found, she began to
pace up and down on the opposite pavement, always keeping her eyes
fixed on the same door. She was soon shivering in the cold night air,
and quickened her walk. It was rather more than an hour before the door
she was watching at length opened, and two friends came out together.
Harriet followed them as closely as she could, until she saw that she
herself was observed. Thereupon she walked away, and, by a circuit,
ultimately came back into the main road, where she took a 'bus going
northwards.

Harriet's cousin, when alone of an evening, sat in his bedroom, the
world shut out, his thoughts in long past times, rebuilding the ruins
of a fallen Empire.

When he was eighteen, the lad had the good luck to light upon a cheap
copy of Gibbon in a second-hand book-shop. It was the first edition;
six noble quarto volumes, clean and firm in the old bindings. Often he
had turned longing eyes upon newer copies of the great book, but the
price had always put them beyond his reach. That very night he solemnly
laid open the first volume at the first page, propping it on a couple
of meaner books, and, after glancing through the short Preface, began
to read with a mind as devoutly disposed as that of any pious beli