ont. It is a starlight night," said
Mr. Yorke.

They passed out, closing the front door after them, and side by side
paced the frost-white pavement to and fro.

"Settle about Farren at once," urged Mr. Moore. "You have large
fruit-gardens at Yorke Mills. He is a good gardener. Give him work
there."

"Well, so be it. I'll send for him to-morrow, and we'll see. And now, my
lad, you're concerned about the condition of your affairs?"

"Yes, a second failure--which I may delay, but which, at this moment, I
see no way finally to avert--would blight the name of Moore completely;
and you are aware I had fine intentions of paying off every debt and
re-establishing the old firm on its former basis."

"You want capital--that's all you want."

"Yes; but you might as well say that breath is all a dead man wants to
live."

"I know--I know capital is not to be had for the asking; and if you were
a married man, and had a family, like me, I should think your case
pretty nigh desperate; but the young and unencumbered have chances
peculiar to themselves. I hear gossip now and then about your being on
the eve of marriage with this miss and that; but I suppose it is none of
it true?"

"You may well suppose that. I think I am not in a position to be
dreaming of marriage. Marriage! I cannot bear the word; it sounds so
silly and utopian. I have settled it decidedly that marriage and love
are superfluities, intended only for the rich, who live at ease, and
have no need to take thought for the morrow; or desperations--the last
and reckless joy of the deeply wretched, who never hope to rise out of
the slough of their utter poverty."

"I should not think so if I were circumstanced as you are. I should
think I could very likely get a wife with a few thousands, who would
suit both me and my affairs."

"I wonder where?"

"Would you try if you had a chance?"

"I don't know. It depends on--in short, it depends on many things."

"Would you take an old woman?"

"I'd rather break stones on the road."

"So would I. Would you take an ugly one?"

"Bah! I hate ugliness and delight in beauty. My eyes and heart, Yorke,
take pleasure in a sweet, young, fair face, as they are repelled by a
grim, rugged, meagre one. Soft delicate lines and hues please, harsh
ones prejudice me. I won't have an ugly wife."

"Not if she were rich?"

"Not if she were dressed in gems. I could not love--I could not fancy--I
could not endure her. My taste must ha