I had my hands quite full, for I was working very hard at the office, and making myself as indispensable as possible to Mr. Gascoyne. The rest of the staff had ceased being jealous when they saw that I was determined to get what I wanted. Such remarks as “one of those damned Jews again,” unintentionally overheard by me, I ignored with the sublime cynicism of my race. Nothing was to be gained by being aware of them, less was to be gained by cherishing resentment. Jews are not good at revenge; it is not business. Shylock’s case was exceptional, and, given time, his common sense would have reasserted itself. I was even treated as the natural heir to the business, for I had wisely thrown out veiled hints of a partnership to the managing clerk. I was about this time somewhat scared by a suitor appearing for Miss Gascoyne’s hand, and such a suitor as must have made any mere business man tremble for his own chance. I knew that Miss Gascoyne was constantly receiving the very best invitations, which she seldom accepted. I also knew that she and her uncle and aunt had dined with the Gascoynes, and I had heard mentioned, not, however, as a matter of any great consequence, that they had met there a Mr. Hibbert-Wyllie. I was therefore a little astonished on calling one Sunday afternoon to find Mr. Hibbert-Wyllie, a young man undeniably handsome and well-bred, in the drawing-room. I could not stay long, but even in the short time I was there it was obvious that the object of his visit was Miss Gascoyne. He was evidently rich, for outside the door was an exceedingly luxurious motor. I looked him up in the landed gentry, and found that he was one of the untitled nobility. He had a huge estate, and was related to half the peerage. His sisters were a duchess and two countesses, and his younger brother was already a distinguished member of Parliament. He was Lord-Lieutenant of his county, and altogether a notable person. It seemed as if, granting any inclination on Miss Gascoyne’s part, my fate was sealed. The next time I called Mrs. Gascoyne said to me when we were alone: “I am afraid my niece will not be with us much longer.” “Indeed?” I think she must have had some notion that I had dreamed of Miss Gascoyne as my wife, for there was an accent of kindliness in her voice. “You have met Mr. Hibbert-Wyllie?” “Oh, yes.” I almost gasped. Surely she was not going to tell me that Miss Gascoyne was engaged to him already. “It will be a splendid match. She is quite the woman to take her place at the head of county society.” “They are engaged?” “Oh dear no, but anyone can see that there is a mutual attraction, and it is altogether so exactly suitable that we hope it will take place.” I had never before considered Mrs. Gascoyne a fool. Mr. Gascoyne came in soon after, and she began again. I think she believed it the kindest thing to do. “I have just been talking to Israel about Edith and Mr. Hibbert-Wyllie.”