According to his own accounts, Mr. Tom Starbrow was up in town on business; apparently the business was not of a very pressing nature, as most of his time during the next few days was spent at Dawson Place, where he and his sister had endless conversations about old times. Then he would go with Fan to explore Whiteley's, which seemed to require a great deal of exploring; and from these delightful rambles they would return laden with treasures--choice bon-bons, exotic flowers and hot-house grapes at five or six shillings a pound; quaint Japanese knick-knacks; books and pictures, and photographs of celebrated men--great beetle-browed philosophers, and men of blood and thunder; also of women still more celebrated, on and off the stage. Mr. Starbrow would have nothing sent; the whole fun of the thing, he assured Fan, was in carrying all their purchases home themselves; and so, laden with innumerable small parcels, they would return chatting and laughing like the oldest and best of friends, happy and light-hearted as children. At last one day Mr. Starbrow went back to the old subject. “Mary, my girl,” he said, “have you thought over the advice I gave you about this white child of yours?” “No, certainly not; we were speaking of it when you broke off in the middle of a sentence, if you remember. You can finish the sentence now if you like, but don't be in a hurry.” “Well then, to come at once to the very pith of the whole matter, I think I've been sticking to the mill long enough--for the present. And it may come to pass that some day I shall be married, and then----” “Your second state will be worse than your first.” “That will be according to how it turns out. I was only going to say that a married man finds it more difficult to do some things.” “To flirt with pretty young girls, for instance?” “No, no. But I haven't finished yet. I haven't even come to the matter at all.” “Oh, you haven't! How strange!” He smiled and was silent. “I hope, Tom, you'll marry a big strong woman.” “Why, Mary?” “Because you want an occasional good shaking.” “You see, my difficulty is this,” he began again, without noticing the last speech. “When I tell you what I want, I'm afraid you'll only laugh at me and refuse my request.” “It won't hurt you much, poor old Tom, if I do laugh.”