“Of course I have thought on the subject,” said Jack; “I hope I am not a fellow to do things without thinking. I don’t pretend it is prudent. Prudence is very good, but there are some things that are better. I mean to get married with the least possible delay.” “And then?” said Mr. Brownlow. “Then, sir, I suppose,” said Jack, not without a touch of bitterness, “you will let me remain in the office, and keep my clerkship; seeing that, as you say, I have not a penny in the world.” Then they walked on together again for several minutes in the darkness. It was not wonderful that Jack’s heart should be swelling with a sense of injury. Here was he, a rich man’s son, with the great park breathing round him in the darkness, and the great house shining behind, with its many lights, and many servants, and much luxury. All was his father’s--all, and a great deal more than that: and yet he, his father’s only son, had “not a penny in the world.” No wonder Jack’s heart was very bitter within him; but he was too proud to make a word of complaint. “You think it cruel of me to say so,” Mr. Brownlow said, after that long pause; “and so it looks, I don’t doubt. But if you knew as much as I do, it would not appear to you so wonderful. I am neither so rich nor so assured in my wealth as people think.” “Do you mean that you have been losing money?” said Jack, who was half touched, in the midst of his discontent, by his father’s tone. “I have been losing--not exactly money,” said Mr. Brownlow, with a sigh; “but never mind: I can’t hide from you, Jack, that you have disappointed me. I feel humbled about it altogether. Not that I am a man to care for worldly advantages that are won by marriage; but yet--and you did not seem the sort of boy to throw yourself away.” “Look here, father,” said Jack; “you may be angry, but I must say one word. I think a man, when he can work for his wife, has a right to marry as he likes--at least _if_ he likes,” added the young philosopher, hastily, with a desperate thought of his consistency; “but I do think a girl’s friends have something to do with it. Yet you set your face against me, and let _that_ fellow see Sara constantly--see her alone--talk with her--I found them in the flower-garden the other day--and then, by Jove! you pitch into me.” “You are speaking of young Powys,” said Mr. Brownlow, with sudden dignity; “Powys is a totally different thing--I have told you so before.” “And I have told you, sir, that you are mistaken,” said Jack. “How is Powys different? except that he’s a young--cad--and never had any breeding. As for any idea you may have in your head about his family--have you ever seen his mother?” “Have you?” said Mr. Brownlow; and his heart, too, began to beat heavily, as if there could be any sentimental power in that good woman’s name.