of Mrs. Bluestone's luncheon.

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE DOG IN THE MANGER.

During all this time Daniel Thwaite had been living alone, working
day after day and hour after hour among the men in Wigmore Street,
trusted by his employer, disliked by those over whom he was set in
some sort of authority, and befriended by none. He had too heavy a
weight on his spirits to be light of heart, even had his nature been
given to lightness. How could he even hope that the girl would resist
all the temptation that would be thrown in her way, all the arguments
that would be used to her, the natural entreaties that would be
showered upon her from all her friends? Nor did he so think of
himself, as to believe that his own personal gifts would bind her to
him when opposed by those other personal gifts which he knew belonged
to the lord. Measuring himself by his own standard, regarding that
man to be most manly who could be most useful in the world, he did
think himself to be infinitely superior to the Earl. He was the
working bee, whereas the Earl was the drone. And he was one who used
to the best of his abilities the mental faculties which had been
given to him; whereas the Earl,--so he believed,--was himself hardly
conscious of having had mental faculties bestowed upon him. The Earl
was, to his thinking, as were all earls, an excrescence upon society,
which had been produced by the evil habits and tendencies of mankind;
a thing to be got rid of before any near approach could be made
to that social perfection in the future coming of which he fully
believed. But, though useless, the Earl was beautiful to the eye.
Though purposeless, as regarded any true purpose of speech, his voice
was of silver and sweet to the ears. His hands, which could never
help him to a morsel of bread, were soft to the touch. He was sweet
with perfumes and idleness, and never reeked of the sweat of labour.
Was it possible that such a girl as Anna Lovel should resist the
popinjay, backed as he would be by her own instincts and by the
prayers of every one of her race? And then from time to time another
thought would strike him. Using his judgment as best he might on her
behalf, ought he to wish that she should do so? The idleness of an
earl might be bad, and equally bad the idleness of a countess. To be
the busy wife of a busy man, to be the mother of many children who
should be all taught to be busy on behalf of mankind, was, to his
thinking, the highest lo