u refused."

"He is so unreasonable and ignorant that I am better away from
him. But, Kate, you have not congratulated me on my matrimonial
prospects."

"Indeed I did, George, when I wrote to you."

"Did you? well; I had forgotten. I don't know that any very strong
congratulatory tone is necessary. As things go, perhaps it may be as
well for all of us, and that's about the best that can be said for
it."

"Oh, George!"

"You see I'm not romantic, Kate, as you are. Half a dozen children
with a small income do not generally present themselves as being
desirable to men who wish to push their way in the world."

"You know you have always longed to make her your wife."

"I don't know anything of the kind. You have always been under a
match-making hallucination on that point. But in this case you have
been so far successful, and are entitled to your triumph."

"I don't want any triumph; you ought to know that."

"But I'll tell you what I do want, Kate. I want some money." Then
he paused, but as she did not answer immediately, he was obliged to
go on speaking. "I'm not at all sure that I have not been wrong in
making this attempt to get into Parliament,--that I'm not struggling
to pick fruit which is above my reach."

"Don't say that, George."

"Ah, but I can't help feeling it. I need hardly tell you that I am
ready to risk anything of my own. If I know myself I would toss up
to-morrow, or for the matter of that to-day, between the gallows and
a seat in the House. But I cannot go on with this contest by risking
what is merely my own. Money, for immediate use, I have none left,
and my neck, though I were ever so willing to risk it, is of no
service."

"Whatever I have can be yours to-morrow," said Kate, in a hesitating
voice, which too plainly pronounced her misery as she made the
offer. She could not refrain herself from making it. Though her
grandfather's threat was ringing in her ears,--though she knew that
she might be ruining her brother by proposing such a loan, she had
no alternative. When her brother told her of his want of money, she
could not abstain from tendering to him the use of what was her own.

"No;" said he. "I shall not take your money."

"You would not scruple, if you knew how welcome you are."

"At any rate, I shall not take it. I should not think it right. All
that you have would only just suffice for my present wants, and I
should not choose to make you a beggar. There would, moreover,