tly.

"Can I do nothing?" said the cunning, legal man.

"Nothing at all," said Bertram, very curtly.

"Ah, I wish I could. I should be so happy to rearrange matters if it
be at all possible." There are some men who are so specially good at
rearranging the domestic disarrangements of others.

"It is an affair," said Bertram, "which admits of no interference.
Perhaps it is unnecessary that I should have troubled you on the
matter at all, for I know that you are very busy; but--"

"My dear fellow--busy, indeed! What business could be more important
to me than my friend's happiness?"

"But," continued George, "as the affair had been talked over so often
between you and me, I thought it right to tell you."

"Of course--of course; and so nothing can be done. Ah, well! it is
very sad, very. But I suppose you know best. She is a charming girl.
Perhaps, rather--"

"Harcourt, I had rather not hear a word spoken about her in any way;
but certainly not a word in her dispraise."

"Dispraise! no, certainly not. It would be much easier to praise her.
I always admired her very much; very much indeed."

"Well, there's an end of it."

"So be it. But I am sorry, very sorry; heartily sorry. You are a
little rough now, Bertram. Of course I see that you are so. Every
touch goes against the hair with you; every little blow hits you on
the raw. I can understand that; and therefore I do not mind your
roughness. But we are old friends, you know. Each is perhaps the
other's oldest friend; and I don't mean to lose such a friend because
you have a shade of the misanthrope on you just now. You'll throw the
bile off in another essay, rather more bitter than the last, and then
you'll be all right."

"I'm right enough now, thank you. Only a man can't always be in high
spirits. At least, some men cannot."

"Well, God bless you, old fellow! I know you want me gone; so I'll go
now. But never talk to me about my business. I do get through a good
deal of business, but it shall never stand between you and me."

And so the cunning legal man went his way.

And then there remained the journey to Hadley. After that it was
his purpose to go abroad again, to go to Paris, and live in dingy
lodgings there _au cinquieme_, to read French free-thinking books, to
study the wild side of politics, to learn if he could, among French
theatres and French morals, French freedom of action, and freedom
of speech, and freedom of thought--France was a blessed c