It was not in his disposition to play the petitioner, and still less to give vent to feelings of indignation, which would be thought to have their origin only in his own personal injuries. It was still surprise that was predominant in him, as at length he exclaimed--"But surely, madam, you do not understand this matter. This annuity was honestly won by long services rendered to your father, and to his son. Instead of receiving other payments, I had preferred to be finally remunerated in this form--it was my desire to obtain what in my humble ideas was an independence, that I might devote my life to science. Well, this annuity, it is my all--it stands between me and absolute penury--it is the plank on which I sail over the waters of life. I have, too, an object for my existence, which this alone renders possible. I have studies to pursue, discoveries to make. This sum of money is more than my life, it is my license to study and to think." "Oh, but, Mr Simpson," interrupted the lady with a smile, "I understand nothing of mathematics." Mr Simpson checked himself. No, she did _not_ understand him. What was his love of science or his hope of fame to her? What to her was any one of the pains and pleasures that constituted _his_ existence? "Besides," added the lady, "you are a bachelor, Mr Simpson. You have no children. It can matter little"---- A grim smile played upon the features of the mathematician. He was probably about to prove to her, that as children are destined to become men, the interests of a man may not be an unworthy subject of anxiety. However important a person a child may be, a man is something more. But at this moment a servant entered, and announced Sir John Steventon! On perceiving Mr Simpson, that gentleman was about to retreat, and with a look of something like distrust at Mrs Vincent, he said that he would call again. "Nay, come in!" exclaimed the mathematician with a clear voice. "Come in! The lady has not broken her word, nor by me shall she be petitioned to do so. It is I who will quit this place. You have succeeded, Sir John, in your revenge--you have succeeded, and yet perhaps it is an imperfect success. You shall not rack the heart, though you should starve the body. You think, perhaps, I shall pursue you with objurgation or entreaty. You are mistaken. I leave you to the enjoyment of your triumph, and to the peace which a blunted conscience will, I know, bestow upon you." Sir John muttered, in reply, that he could not debate matters of business, but must refer him to his solicitor. "Neither personally," continued Mr Simpson, "nor by your solicitor, will you hear more of me. I shall forget you, Sir John. Whatever sufferings you may inflict, you shall not fill my heart with bitterness. Your memory shall not call forth a single curse from me. Approach. Be friendly to this lady. Be mutually courteous, bland, and affable--what other virtues do you know?"