y in debt as well."

"There is some mistake, mother," said George Canninge again, in the same
calm, judicial voice; "it cannot be true."

"But it is true, my dear boy," persisted Mrs Canninge, who, woman of
the world as she was, had not the prudence upon this occasion to leave
her words to rankle in her son's breast, but tried to drive them home
with others in her eagerness to excite disgust with an object upon which
George Canninge seemed to have set his mind.

"I say, mother, that it cannot be true," he said, speaking very sternly
now; and he crossed the room.

"You are not going out dear?" said Mrs Canninge. "I want to talk to
you a little more."

"You have talked to me enough for one day, mother," said the young man
firmly; "and I must go."

"But where, dear? You are not going to the Vicarage to ask if what I
have told you is true? I had it from dear Beatrice's own lips, and she
is terribly cut up about it."

"I am not going to the Vicarage, mother," said the young man firmly. "I
am going down to the school to ask Miss Thorne."

"George, my dear son!"

Her answer was the loudly closing door, and directly after she heard
steps upon the gravel-drive.

She ran to the window, and could see that her son was walking rapidly
across the park; for George Canninge was so deeply considering the words
he had heard that he would not wait for his horse.

"It is monstrous!" cried Mrs Canninge, stamping angrily. "It shall
never be! It would be a disgrace!"

The next minute she had thrown herself angrily into her son's chair, and
sat there with clenched hands and lowering brow. A minute later, and
she was acting as most women do when they cannot make matters go as they
wish. Mrs Canninge took out her pocket-handkerchief, and shed some
bitter, mortified tears.

CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE.

SISTER AND BROTHER--VULGAR.

"Oh, Bill!"

Then an interval of panting and wiping her perspiring face and then
again--

"Oh, Bill!"

Then a burst of piteous sobbing, for poor little Miss Burge was crying
as if her heart would break.

"Let it go, Betsey. Don't try to stop it, dear. Let it go," said Mr
William Forth Burge in the most sympathising of tones; and his sister
did let it go, crying vehemently for a time, while he waited patiently
to know what was the matter.

"That's better, my dear," he said, kissing her. "Now then, tell us
what's the matter."

"Oh, Bill! I've been down the town, and I almost ran back