“High spirits are born, not made,” he said. “The best thing you can do is to go and find another girl, and marry her before she finds you out.” Mr. Hurst shook his head. “There’s no other girl for me,” he said, miserably. “And everything seemed to be going so well. We’ve been buying things for the house for the last six months, and I’ve just got a good rise in my screw.” “It’ll do for another girl,” said Mr. Mott, briskly. “Now, you get off back to town. You are worrying Florrie by staying here, and you are doing no good to anybody. Good-bye.” “I’ll walk back as far as the door with you,” said Mr. Hurst. “You’ve done me good. It’s a pity I didn’t meet you before.” “Remember what I’ve told you, and you’ll do well yet,” he said, patting the young man on the arm. “I will,” said Mr. Hurst, and walked on by his side, deep in thought. “I can’t ask you in,” said Mr. Mott, jocularly, as he reached his door, and turned the key in the lock. “Good-bye.” “Good-bye,” said Mr. Hurst. He grasped the other’s outstretched hand, and with a violent jerk pulled him into the street. Then he pushed open the door, and, slipping into the passage, passed hastily into the front room, closely followed by the infuriated Mr. Mott. “What—what—what!” stammered that gentleman. “I’m taking your tip,” said Mr. Hurst, pale but determined. “I’m going to stay here until I have seen Florrie.” “You—you’re a serpent,” said Mr. Mott, struggling for breath. “I—I’m surprised at you. You go out before you get hurt.” “Not without the mantelpiece,” said Mr. Hurst, with a distorted grin. “A viper!” said Mr. Mott, with extreme bitterness. “If you are not out in two minutes I’ll send for the police.” “Florrie wouldn’t like that,” said Mr. Hurst. “She’s awfully particular about what people think. You just trot upstairs and tell her that a gentleman wants to see her.” He threw himself into Mr. Mott’s own particular easy chair, and, crossing his knees, turned a deaf ear to the threats of that incensed gentleman. Not until the latter had left the room did his features reveal the timorousness of the soul within. Muffled voices sounded from upstairs, and it was evident that an argument of considerable length was in progress. It was also evident from the return of Mr. Mott alone that his niece had had the best of it. “I’ve done all I could,” he said, “but she declines to see you. She says she won’t see you if you stay here for a month, and you couldn’t do that, you know.” “Why not?” inquired Mr. Hurst. “Why not?” repeated Mr. Mott, repressing his feelings with some difficulty. “Food!” Mr. Hurst started. “And drink,” said Mr. Mott, following up his advantage. “There’s no good in starving yourself for nothing, so you may as well go.” “When I’ve seen Florrie,” said the young man, firmly.