"I have had a tremendous scene with my mother. She has given up hinting, and spoken out plainly at last. It appears that her whole soul is set upon my marrying my cousin Annette. This is the whole and sole reason of their living out of town, and of the poor governor being expatriated from the Pall Mall pavement and the gossip he loves so well. It appears that Annette is an heiress--in rather a large way too, will have no end of money--and that my poor dear mother, determined to secure her for me, has been hiding down here in this horrible seclusion, in order that the girl may form no 'detrimental' acquaintance of youths who might be likely to cut me out! Not very flattering to me, is it? But still it was well meant, poor soul! "Now, you know, George, this won't do at all. If I entered into this plan for a moment, I should have to give up that other little affair at once; _and nothing earthly would make me do that!_ Besides, I do not care for Annette; and as to her money, that would be deuced little good to me, if However, one goes with the other, so we needn't say any more about it. "Of course, I fought off at once--pleaded Annette's bad state of health--she is ill, often keeps her room, and has to have a nurse entirely given up to her--said we were both very young, and asked for time--but all no good. My mother was very strong on the subject; and the governor, who sees a chance of his jailership being put an end to, and of his getting back to haunts of civilisation, backed her up with all his might, which is not much, poor old boy! "So all I could do was to say that I never did anything without your advice, and to suggest that you should be asked down here at once. My mother wouldn't have it at first, until I said she feared you were a gay young dog, who would make running with Annette to my detriment; and then I told her what a quiet, solemn, old-fashioned old touch you really were, and then she consented. So, dear old man, you're booked and in for it. I really do want your counsel awfully, though I only thought of making you a scapegoat when I first suggested your visit. But now I am looking forward to it with the greatest anxiety from day to day. Come at once. You can easily arrange about your leave--come, and help me in this fix. _But recollect, don't attempt to break off the acquaintance between me and that young lady, for that would be utterly useless!_ God bless you. Come at once. "Yours ever, P.D." George Wainwright reads this letter through twice attentively, and the frown deepens on his forehead. Then he folds it up and places it in his breast-pocket, and remains for ten minutes, slowly stroking his beard with his hand, and pondering the while. Then he looks up, and says: "Billy, I'm thinking of taking the chief's advice, and going for a little leave."