ready in India; but, by Gad, for a settlement, I believe
some of 'em here would marry--I mean of the girls in society."

"But isn't this society?" asked the Colonel.

"Oh, of course. It's very good society and that sort of thing--but it's
not, you know--you understand. I give you my honour there are not three
people in the room one meets anywhere, except the Rummun. What is he at
home, sir? I know he ain't a Prince, you know, any more than I am."

"I believe he is a rich man now," said the Colonel. "He began from
very low beginnings, and odd stories are told about the origin of his
fortune."

"That may be," says the young man; "of course, as businessmen, that's
not our affair. But has he got the fortune? He keeps a large account
with us; and, I think, wants to have larger dealings with us still. As
one of the family we may ask you to stand by us, and tell us anything
you know. My father has asked him down to Newcome, and we've taken him
up; wisely or not I can't say. I think otherwise; but I'm quite young in
the house, and of course the elders have the chief superintendence."
The young man of business had dropped his drawl or his languor, and
was speaking quite unaffectedly; good-naturedly, and selfishly. Had you
talked to him for a week, you could not have made him understand the
scorn and loathing with which the Colonel regarded him. Here was a young
fellow as keen as the oldest curmudgeon; a lad with scarce a beard to
his chin, that would pursue his bond as rigidly as Shylock. "If he is
like this at twenty, what will he be at fifty?" groaned the Colonel.
"I'd rather Clive were dead than have him such a heartless woriding as
this." And yet the young man was not ungenerous, not untruth-telling,
not unserviceable. He thought his life was good enough. It was as good
as that of other folks he lived with. You don't suppose he had any
misgivings, provided he was in the City early enough in the morning;
or slept badly, unless he indulged too freely over-night; or twinges of
conscience that his life was misspent? He thought his life a most lucky
and reputable one. He had a share in a good business, and felt that he
could increase it. Some day he would marry a good match, with a good
fortune; meanwhile he could take his pleasure decorously, and sow his
wild oats as some of the young Londoners sow them, not broadcast after
the fashion of careless scatter-brained youth, but trimly and neatly,
in quiet places, where the crop c