income very largely from that quarter! The only author I ever knew personally, sank into it, poor fellow, because he could do nothing else; and, he led a wretched existence from hand to mouth! He was never recognised afterwards in society, of course!”

“Genius is not always acknowledged at first, Mrs Clyde,” I said loftily.

Her sneers at the profession, which I regarded as one of the highest in the world, provoked me.

Fancy her calling all authors “penny-a-liners!”

“So, all unsuccessful men say!” she replied curtly.—“But,”—she went on, putting aside all my literary prospects as beneath her notice, and returning to the main point at issue,—“is that all you have got to depend upon for your anticipated wife and establishment?”

She smiled sweetly, playing with me as a cat would with a mouse.

“All I have, certainly, at present, Mrs Clyde,”—I said, abashed at the sarcasm thus directed against my miserable income, which she did not take the slightest pains to conceal.—“But I shall have more by-and-by. We are both young; and, if you will only give me some hope of gaining your consent, when I have achieved what you may consider sufficient for the purpose, I will work for her and win her. O Mrs Clyde!”—I pleaded,—“let me only have the assurance that you will allow her to wait for me. I will work most nobly that I may deserve her!”

“All this is mere rhapsody, Mr Lorton,”—she said in her icy accents, throwing a shower of metaphorical cold water on my earnest enthusiasm.—“Do you seriously think for a moment that I would give my consent to my daughter’s engagement to you in your present position?”

“I hoped so, Mrs Clyde,” I replied, timidly.

I did not know what else to say.

“Then you hoped wrongly,” she said. “You are really very young, Mr Lorton! I do not mean merely in years, but in knowledge of the world! You positively wish me to sacrifice all my daughter’s prospects, and let her be bound to a wearisome engagement, on the mere chance of your being able at some distant period to marry her! Do I understand you aright? I certainly gave you credit for possessing more good sense, Mr Lorton, or I should never have admitted you to my house.”

“O, Mrs Clyde,” I said, “be considerate! Be merciful! Remember, that you were young once.”

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