The day after the meeting at the Academy, as Ralph, the young Squire, was sitting alone in his room over a late breakfast, a maid-servant belonging to the house opened the door and introduced Mr. Neefit. It was now the middle of May, and Ralph had seen nothing of the breeches-maker since the morning on which he had made his appearance in the yard of the Moonbeam. There had been messages, and Mr. Carey had been very busy endeavouring to persuade the father that he could benefit neither himself nor his daughter by persistence in so extravagant a scheme. Money had been offered to Mr. Neefit,—most unfortunately, and this offer had added to his wrongs. And he had been told by his wife that Polly had at last decided in regard to her own affections, and had accepted her old lover, Mr. Moggs. He had raved at Polly to her face. He had sworn at Moggs behind his back. He had called Mr. Carey very hard names;—and now he forced himself once more upon the presence of the young Squire. "Captain," he said, as soon as he had carefully closed the door behind him, "are you going to be upon the square?" Newton had given special orders that Neefit should not be admitted to his presence; but here he was, having made his way into the chamber in the temporary absence of the Squire\'s own servant.

"Mr. Neefit," said Newton, "I cannot allow this."

"Not allow it, Captain?"

"No;—I cannot. I will not be persecuted. I have received favours from you—"

"Yes, you have, Captain."

"And I will do anything in reason to repay them."

"Will you come out and see our Polly?"

"No, I won\'t."

"You won\'t?"

"Certainly not. I don\'t believe your daughter wants to see me. She is engaged to another man." So much Mr. Carey had learned from Mrs. Neefit. "I have a great regard for your daughter, but I will not go to see her."

"Engaged to another man;—is she?"

"I am told so."

"Oh;—that\'s your little game, is it? And you won\'t see me when I call,—won\'t you? I won\'t stir out of this room unless you sends for the police, and so we\'ll get it all into one of the courts of law. I shall just like to see how you\'ll look when you\'re being cross-hackled by one of them learned gents. There\'ll be a question or two about the old breeches-maker as the Squire of Newton mayn\'t like to see in the papers the next morning. I shall take the liberty of ringing the bell and ordering a bit of dinner here, if you don\'t mind. I shan\'t go when the police comes without a deal of row, and then we shall have it all out in the courts."

This was monstrously absurd, but at the same time very annoying. Even though he should disregard that threat of being "cross-hackled by a learned gent," and of being afterwards made notorious in the newspapers,—which it must be confessed he did not find himself able to disregard,—still, independently of that feeling, he was very unwilling to call for brute force to remove Mr. Neefit from the arm-chair in which that worthy tradesman had seated himself. He had treated the man otherwise than as a tradesman. He had borrowed the man\'s money, and eaten the man\'s dinners; visited the man at Ramsgate, and twice offered his hand to the man\'s daughter. "You are very welcome to dine here," he said, "only I am sorry that I cannot dine here with you."

"I won\'t stir from the place for a week."

"That will be inconvenient," said Ralph,

"Uncommon inconvenient I should say, to a gent like you,—especially as I shall tell everybody that I\'m on a visit to my son-in-law."

"I meant to yourself,—and to the business."

"Never you mind the business, Captain. There\'ll be enough left to give my girl all the money I promised her, and I don\'t think I shall have to ask you to keep your father-in-law neither. Sending an attorney to offer me a thousand pounds! It\'s my belief I could buy you out yet, Captain, in regard to ready money."

"I daresay you could, Mr. Neefit."

"And I won\'t stir from here till you name a day to come and see me and my missus and Polly."

"This is sheer madness, Mr. Neefit."

"You think so;—do you, Captain? You\'ll find me madder nor you think for yet. I\'m not agoing to be put upon by you, and nothing come of it. I\'ll have it out of you in money or marbles, as the saying is. Just order me a glass of sherry wine, will you? I\'m a thirsty talking. When you came a visiting me, I always give you lashings of drink." This was so true that Ralph felt himself compelled to ring the bell, and order up some wine. "Soda and brandy let it be, Jack," said Mr. Neefit to Mr. Newton\'s own man. "It\'ll be more comfortable like between near relations."

"Soda-water and brandy for Mr. Neefit," said the young Squire, turning angrily to the man. "Mr. Neefit, you are perfectly welcome to as much brandy as you can drink, and my man will wait upon you while I\'m away. Good morning." Whereupon Newton took up his hat and left the room. He had not passed into the little back room, in which he knew that the servant would be looking for soda-water, before he heard a sound as of smashed crockery, and he was convinced that Mr. Neefit was preparing himself for forcible eviction by breaking his ornaments. Let the ornaments go, and the mirror, and the clock on the chimney-piece, and the windows. It was a frightful nuisance, but anything would be better than sending for the police to take away Mr. Neefit. "Keep your eye on that man in the front room," said he, to his Swiss valet.

"On Mr. Neefit, saar?"

"Yes; on Mr. Neefit. He wants me to marry his daughter, and I can\'t oblige him. Let him have what he wants to eat and drink. Get rid of him if you can, but don\'t send for the police. He\'s smashing all the things, and you must save as many as you can." So saying, he hurried down the stairs and out of the house. But what was he to do next? If Mr. Neefit chose to carry out his threat by staying in the rooms, Mr. Neefit must be allowed to have his own way. If he chose to amuse himself by breaking the things, the things must be broken. If he got very drunk, he might probably be taken home in a cab, and deposited at the cottage at Hendon. But what should Ralph do at this moment? He sauntered sadly down St. James\'s Street with his hands in his trousers-pockets, and finding a crawling hansom at the palace-gate, he got into it and ordered the man to drive him down to Fulham. He had already made up his mind about "dear little Clary," and the thing might as well be done at once. None of the girls were at home. Miss Underwood and Miss Bonner had gone up to London to see Sir Thomas. Miss Clarissa was spending the day with Mrs. Brownlow. "That will just be right," said Ralph to himself, as he ordered the cabman to drive him to the old lady\'s house on the Brompton Road.

Mrs. Brownlow had ever been a great admirer of the young Squire, and did not admire him less now that he had come to his squireship. She had always hoped that Clary would marry the real heir, and was sounding his praises while Ralph was knocking at her door. "He is not half so fine a fellow as his brother," said Clarissa.

"You did not use to think so," said Mrs. Brownlow. Then the door was opened and Ralph was announced.

With his usual easy manner,—with that unabashed grace which Clarissa used to think so charming,—he soon explained that he had been to Fulham, and had had himself driven back to Bolsover House because Clarissa was there. Clarissa, as she heard this, felt the blood tingle in her cheeks. His manner now did not seem to her to be so full of grace. Was it not all selfishness? Mrs. Brownlow purred out her applause. It was not to be supposed that he came to see an old woman;—but his coming to see a young woman, with adequate intentions, was quite the proper thing for such a young man to do! They were just going to take lunch. Of course he would stop and lunch with them. He declared that he would like nothing better. Mrs. Brownlow rang the bell, and gave her little orders. Clarissa\'s thoughts referred quickly to various matters,—to the scene on the lawn, to a certain evening on which she had walked home with him from this very house, to the confessions which she had made to her sister, to her confidence with her cousin;—and then to the offer that had been made to Mary, now only a few weeks since. She looked at him, though she did not seem to be looking at him, and told herself that the man was nothing to her. He had caused her unutterable sorrow, with which her heart was still sore;—but he was nothing to her. She would eat her lunch with him, and endeavour to talk to him; but the less she might see of him henceforth the better. He was selfish, heartless, weak, and unworthy.

The lunch was eaten, and within three minutes afterwards, Mrs. Brownlow was away. As they were returning to the little parlour in which they had been sitting during the............