Archibald was beside himself with grief; but in six months he
married the beautiful lady, and went to the bad altogether--went
under, in fact; and Daphne, his daughter of fourteen or fifteen, was
taken by the Whitbys.

So now Barty, thoroughly sick of smart society, found himself in an
unexpected position--without an allowance, in a crack regiment, and
never a penny to look forward to!

For old Lord Whitby, who loved him, was a poor man with a large
family; and every penny of Lady Archibald's fortune that didn't go
to her husband and daughter went back to her own family of
Lonlay-Savignac. She had made no will--no provision for her beloved,
her adopted son!

So Barty never went to the Crimea, after all, but sold out, and
found himself the possessor of seven or eight hundred pounds--most
of which he owed--and with the world before him; but I am going too
fast.

* * * * *

In the winter of 1853, just before Christmas, my father fitted up for me
a chemical laboratory at the top of the fine old house in Barge Yard,
Bucklersbury, where his wine business was carried on, a splendid
mansion, with panelled rooms and a carved-oak staircase--once the abode
of some Dick Whittington, no doubt a Lord Mayor of London; and I began
my professional career, which consisted in analyzing anything I could
get to analyze for hire, from a sample of gold or copper ore to a
poisoned stomach.

Lord Whitby very kindly sent me different samples of soil from
different fields on his estate, and I analyzed them carefully and
found them singularly like each other. I don't think the estate
benefited much by my scientific investigation. It was my first job,
and brought me twenty pounds (out of which I bought two beautiful
fans--one for my sister, the other for Leah Gibson--and got a new
evening suit for myself at Barty's tailor's).

When this job of mine was finished I had a good deal of time on my
hands, and read many novels and smoked many pipes, as I sat by my
chemical stove and distilled water, and dried chlorate of potash to
keep the damp out of my scales, and toasted cheese, and fried
sausages, and mulled Burgundy, and brewed nice drinks, hot or
cold--a specialty of mine.

I also made my laboratory a very pleasant place. My father wouldn't
permit a piano, nor could I afford one; but I smuggled in a guitar
(for Barty), and also a concertina, which I could play a little
myself. Barty often came with friends