ing about fifty-five years of age, and
almost considered himself young. He lived in chambers on a flat in
Westminster, and belonged to two excellent clubs. He had not been
near his property for the last ten years, and as he was addicted to
no country sport there were ten weeks in the year which were terrible
to him. From the middle of August to the end of October for him there
was no whist, no society,--it may almost be said no dinner. He had
tried going to the seaside; he had tried going to Paris; he had
endeavoured to enjoy Switzerland and the Italian lakes;--but all
had failed, and he had acknowledged to himself that this sad period
of the year must always be endured without relaxation, and without
comfort.

Of his children he now took but little notice. His daughter was
married and in India. His younger son had disappeared, and the father
was perhaps thankful that he was thus saved from trouble. With his
elder son he did maintain some amicable intercourse, but it was very
slight in its nature. They never corresponded unless the one had
something special to say to the other. They had no recognised ground
for meeting. They did not belong to the same clubs. They did not live
in the same circles. They did not follow the same pursuits. They were
interested in the same property;--but, as on that subject there had
been something approaching to a quarrel, and as neither looked for
assistance from the other, they were now silent on the matter. The
father believed himself to be a poorer man than his son, and was very
sore on the subject; but he had nothing beyond a life interest in
his property, and there remained to him a certain amount of prudence
which induced him to abstain from eating more of his pudding,--lest
absolute starvation and the poorhouse should befall him. There still
remained to him the power of spending some five or six hundred a
year, and upon this practice had taught him to live with a very
considerable amount of self-indulgence. He dined out a great deal,
and was known everywhere as Mr. Maule of Maule Abbey.

He was a slight, bright-eyed, grey-haired, good-looking man,
who had once been very handsome. He had married, let us say for
love;--probably very much by chance. He had ill-used his wife, and
had continued a long-continued liaison with a complaisant friend.
This had lasted some twenty years of his life, and had been to him an
intolerable burden. He had come to see the necessity of employing his
go