-"Gracious, how beautiful he was!" "He's
a good un," the woman at the public-house had said as soon as he
left it; "but, my! did you ever see a man's face handsome as that
fellow's?"

Poor Burgo! All who had seen him since life had begun with him had
loved him and striven to cherish him. And with it all, to what a
state had he come! Poor Burgo! had his eyes been less brightly blue,
and his face less godlike in form, it may be that things would
have gone better with him. A sweeter-tempered man than he never
lived,--nor one who was of a kinder nature. At this moment he had
barely money about him to take him down to his aunt's house at
Monkshade, and as he had promised to be there before Christmas Day,
he was bound to start on the next morning, before help from Mr
Magruin was possible. Nevertheless, out of his very narrow funds he
had given half a crown to comfort the poor creature who had spoken to
him in the street.

CHAPTER XXX

Containing a Love Letter

Vavasor, as he sat alone in his room, after Fitzgerald had left him,
began to think of the days in which he had before wished to assist
his friend in his views with reference to Lady Glencora;--or rather
he began to think of Alice's behaviour then, and of Alice's words.
Alice had steadfastly refused to give any aid. No less likely
assistant for such a purpose could have been selected. But she had
been very earnest in declaring that it was Glencora's duty to stand
by her promise to Burgo. "He is a desperate spendthrift," Kate
Vavasor had said to her. "Then let her teach him to be otherwise,"
Alice had answered. "That might have been a good reason for refusing
his offer when he first made it; but it can be no excuse for untruth,
now that she has told him that she loves him!" "If a woman," she had
said again, "won't venture her fortune for the man she loves, her
love is not worth having." All this George Vavasor remembered now;
and as he remembered it he asked himself whether the woman that had
once loved him would venture her fortune for him still.

Though his sister had pressed him on the subject with all the
vehemence that she could use, he had hardly hitherto made up his
mind that he really desired to marry Alice. There had grown upon
him lately certain Bohemian propensities,--a love of absolute
independence in his thoughts as well as actions,--which were
antagonistic to marriage. He was almost inclined to think that
marriage was an old-fashioned custom