,--and there isn't much
more left--"

"I'll tell you what, Mrs. Jones;--he may give Brisket five thousand
pounds as far as I am concerned. Whatever Mr. Brown may do in that
way, I shan't interfere to prevent him."

"You shan't!"

"It's his own money, and, as far as George Robinson is concerned--"

"His own money, and he in partnership with Jones! Not a penny of it
is his own, and so I'll make them understand. As for you, you are the
softest--"

"Never mind me, Mrs. Jones."

"No; I never will mind you again. Well, to be sure! And you'd stand
by and see the money given away in that way to enable the man you
hate to take away the girl you love! Well, I never--. They did say
you was faint-hearted, but I never thought to see the like of that in
a thing that called itself a man." And so saying, she took herself
off.

--"It cannot be,
But I am pigeon-livered, and lack gall,
To make oppression bitter,"

said Robinson, rising from his seat, and slapping his forehead with
his hand; and then he stalked backwards and forwards through the
small room, driven almost to madness by the misery of his position.
"I am not splenetic and rash," he said; "yet have I something in me
dangerous. I loved Ophelia. Forty thousand Briskets could not, with
all their quantities of love, make up my sum."

At this time Mr. Brown still lived at the house in Smithfield. It was
intended that he should move to Bishopsgate Street as soon as the
upper rooms could be made ready for him, but the works had hitherto
been confined to the shop. On this, the night of the opening day,
he intended to give a little supper to his partners; and Robinson,
having promised to join it, felt himself bound to keep his word.
"Brisket will not be there?" he asked, as he walked across Finsbury
Square with the old man. "Certainly not," said Mr. Brown; "I never
thought of asking him." And yet, when they reached the house, Brisket
was already seated by the fire, superintending the toasting of the
cheese, as though he were one of the family. "It's not my doing,
George; indeed, it's not," whispered Mr. Brown, as they entered the
sitting-room of the family.

[Illustration: Brisket makes himself useful.]

That supper-party was terrible to Robinson, but he bore it all
without flinching. Jones and his wife were there, and so also, of
course, was Maryanne. Her he had seen at the moment of his entry,
sitting by with well-pleased face, while her