ogie. You mustn't be shooting always.

Ever your own,

G.

Frank Houston as he read this threw himself back on the sofa and gave
way to a soft sigh. He knew he was doing his duty,--just as another
man does who goes forth from his pleasant home to earn his bread
and win his fortune in some dry, comfortless climate, far from the
delights to which he has been always accustomed. He must do his duty.
He could not live always adding a hundred or two of debt to the
burden already round his neck. He must do his duty. As he thought
of this he praised himself mightily. How beautiful was his far-away
cousin, Imogene Docimer, as she would twist her head round so as to
show the turn of her neck! How delightful it would be to talk love to
Imogene! As to marrying Imogene, who hadn't quite so many hundreds
as himself, that he knew to be impossible. As for marriage, he
wasn't quite sure that he wanted to marry any one. Marriage, to his
thinking, was "a sort of grind," at the best. A man would have to get
up and go to bed with some regularity. His wife might want him to
come down in a frock coat to breakfast. His wife would certainly
object to his drawing the back heads of other young women. Then he
thought of the provocation he had received to draw Gertrude's back
head. Gertrude hadn't got any turn of a neck to speak of. Gertrude
was a stout, healthy girl; and, having L120,000, was entitled to such
a husband as himself. If he waited longer he might be driven to worse
before he found the money which was so essentially necessary. He was
grateful to Gertrude for not being worse, and was determined to treat
her well. But as for love, romance, poetry, art,--all that must for
the future be out of the question. Of course, there would now be no
difficulty with Sir Thomas, and therefore he must at once make up his
mind. He decided that morning, with many soft regrets, that he would
go to Glenbogie, and let those dreams of wanderings in the mountains
of the Tyrol pass away from him. "Dear, dearest Imogene!" He could
have loved Imogene dearly had fates been more propitious. Then he got
up and shook himself, made his resolution like a man, ate a large
allowance of curried salmon for his breakfast,--and then wrote the
following letter. "Duty first!" he said to himself as he sat down to
the table like a hero.

Letter No. 1.

DEAR LADY TRINGLE,

So many thanks! Nothing could suit my book so well as a
few days at Glenbogi