ance which might come
within reach. With such a son, with such need for struggling before
her, would she not be wicked not to catch even at every straw? But
this man had now become so true to her, that she hardly knew how to
beg him to do that which she, with all her mistaken feelings, did in
truth know that he ought not to do. He had asked her to marry him, for
which,--though she had refused him,--she felt infinitely grateful. And
though she had refused him, he had lent her money, and had supported
her in her misery by his continued counsel. If he would offer to do
this thing for her she would accept his kindness on her knees,--but
even she could not bring herself to ask to have this added to his other
favours. Her first word to him was about Mr Alf. 'So he has given up
the paper?'

'Well, yes;--nominally.'

'Is that all?'

'I don't suppose he'll really let it go out of his own hands. Nobody
likes to lose power. He'll share the work, and keep the authority. As
for Westminster, I don't believe he has a chance. If that poor wretch
Melmotte could beat him when everybody was already talking about the
forgeries, how is it likely that he should stand against such a
candidate as they'll get now?'

'He was here yesterday.'

'And full of triumph, I suppose?'

'He never talks to me much of himself. We were speaking of my new
book,--my novel. He assured me most positively that he had nothing
further to do with the paper.'

'He did not care to make you a promise, I dare say.'

'That was just it. Of course I did not believe him.'

'Neither will I make a promise, but we'll see what we can do. If we
can't be good-natured, at any rate we will say nothing ill-natured.
Let me see,--what is the name?'

'"The Wheel of Fortune."' Lady Carbury as she told the title of her
new book to her old friend seemed to be almost ashamed of it.

'Let them send it early,--a day or two before it's out, if they can. I
can't answer, of course, for the opinion of the gentleman it will go
to, but nothing shall go in that you would dislike. Good-bye. God
bless you.' And as he took her hand, he looked at her almost as though
the old susceptibility were returning to him.

As she sat alone after he had gone, thinking over it all,--thinking of
her own circumstances and of his kindness,--it did not occur to her to
call him an old goose again. She felt now that she had mistaken her
man when she had so regarded him. That first and only kiss which he