“Put it with the family archives,” said Sowerby,—“or behind the fire, just which you please.” “And is this the last of them? Can no other be brought up?” “You know better than I do what paper you may have put your hand to. I know of no other. At the last renewal that was the only outstanding bill of which I was aware.” “And you have paid five-and-twenty pounds for it?” “I have. Only that you have been in such a tantrum about it, and would have made such a noise this afternoon if I had not brought it, I might have had it for fifteen or twenty. In three or four days they would have taken fifteen.” “The odd ten pounds does not signify, and I’ll pay you the twenty-five, of course,” said Lord Lufton, who now began to feel a little ashamed of himself. “You may do as you please about that.” “Oh! it’s my affair, as a matter of course. Any amount of that kind I don’t mind,” and he sat down to fill in a cheque for the money. “Well, now, Lufton, let me say a few words to you,” said Sowerby, standing with his back against the fireplace, and playing with a small cane which he held in his hand. “For heaven’s sake try and be a little more charitable to those around you. When you become fidgety about anything, you indulge in language which the world won’t stand, though men who know you as well as Robarts and I may consent to put up with it. You have accused me, since I have been here, of all manner of iniquity—” “Now, Sowerby—” “My dear fellow, let me have my say out. You have accused me, I say, and I believe that you have accused him. But it has never occurred to you, I daresay, to accuse yourself.” “Indeed it has.” “Of course you have been wrong in having to do with such men as Tozer. I have also been very wrong. It wants no great moral authority to tell us that. Pattern gentlemen don’t have dealings with Tozer, and very much the better they are for not having them. But a man should have back enough to bear the weight which he himself puts on it. Keep away from Tozer, if you can, for the future; but if you do deal with him, for heaven’s sake keep your temper.” “That’s all very fine, Sowerby; but you know as well as I do—” “I know this,” said the devil, quoting Scripture, as he folded up the check for twenty-five pounds, and put it in his pocket, “that when a man sows tares, he won’t reap wheat, and it’s no use to expect it. I am tough in these matters, and can bear a great deal—that is, if I be not pushed too far,” and he looked full into Lord Lufton’s face as he spoke; “but I think you have been very hard upon Robarts.” “Never mind me, Sowerby; Lord Lufton and I are very old friends.” “And may therefore take a liberty with each other. Very well. And now I’ve done my sermon. My dear dignitary, allow me to congratulate you. I hear from Fothergill that that little affair of yours has been definitely settled.” Mark’s face again became clouded. “I rather think,” said he, “that I shall decline the presentation.”