rther, I possessed a large fortune all
in cash or in liquid assets, and I resolved that it should not diminish.
I had experienced enough of ups and downs; I was sick of vicissitudes,
of fears and uncertainties for the future. I said to my soul: "Thou hast
enough laid up for many days; eat, drink and be merry," and I proceeded
to invest my modest competence in such a fashion that it brought in a
steady four per cent. No South African mines or other soul-agonising
speculations for me; sweet security was what I craved, and I got it. I
could live with great comfort, even with modest splendour, upon about
half my income, and the rest of it I purposed to lay out for my future
benefit. I had observed that brewers, merchants and other magnates with
cash to spare are in due course elevated to the peerage. Now I wished to
be elevated to the peerage, and to spend an honoured and honourable
old age as Lord Dunchester. So when there was any shortage of the party
funds, and such a shortage soon occurred on the occasion of an election,
I posed as the friend round the corner.

Moreover, I had another aim. My daughter Jane had now grown into a
lovely, captivating and high-spirited young woman. To my fancy, indeed,
I never saw her equal in appearance, for the large dark eyes shining in
a fair and _spirituelle_ face, encircled by masses of rippling chestnut
hair, gave a _bizarre_ and unusual distinction to her beauty, which
was enhanced by a tall and graceful figure. She was witty also and
self-willed, qualities which she inherited from her American mother,
moreover she adored me and believed in me. I, who since my wife's death
had loved nothing else, loved this pure and noble-minded girl as only
a father can love, for my adoration had nothing selfish in it, whereas
that of the truest lover, although he may not know it, is in its
beginnings always selfish. He has something to gain, he seeks his own
happiness, the father seeks only the happiness of his child.

On the whole, I think that the worship of this daughter of mine is
a redeeming point in my character, for which otherwise, sitting in
judgment on it as I do to-day, I have no respect. Jane understood that
worship, and was grateful to me for it. Her fine unsullied instinct
taught her that whatever else about me might be unsound or tarnished,
this at least rang true and was beyond suspicion. She may have seen my
open faults and divined my secret weaknesses, but for the sake of
the lov