"If," said Jefferson, "I become engaged to your daughter, Mr Maybury, I shall have a decided objection to your allowing such a man as Mortimer to remain under the same roof as my _fiancée_." Mr Maybury took a thoughtful pull at his cigar. The well-to-do young stockbroker looked keenly at the ruined merchant. It was to the latter’s advantage to defer to the former. Was he not, as his wife remarked, indebted to this man for his daily bread? Mr Maybury laid down his cigar and sipped his champagne, and meantime such reflections as these coursed through his brain. He was a very poor man, ’tis true, but he had always prided himself on being a just one. Personally, he had perceived no great harm in "this fellow Mortimer." Why, therefore, should he turn him out of his house? "Well?" inquired the young stockbroker, curtly. "The most charitable course to pursue," said Mr Maybury, at length, "would be to see how he goes on. Should he prove himself unfit----" "He has. He is a low, drunken brawler. I cannot bear the thought of Dora being brought into daily contact with him. You will at least admit that I have a right to lodge an objection against him--or will have, should your daughter accept me?" "I should prefer to see how he goes on," said Mr Maybury. "Very well, sir," rejoined Jefferson, rising from his seat with a look of great annoyance on his face, "have it your own way. Waiter, my bill. Please excuse me now, Mr Maybury, as I am not returning to the City." Instead of going straight to the office, when he got back to the City, Mr Maybury turned into a quaint little churchyard--a smoke-begrimed patch of green, where one might rest awhile on a seat. Here he remained for ten minutes, and when he at length turned his steps officewards, he had made up his mind that, however disastrous such an attitude might prove to his prospects, he would in no way seek to influence Dora in Harold Jefferson’s favour. Nor should Jim Mortimer leave his house, unless he himself desired to go. "I have lost pretty nearly everything," thought the ex-merchant as he paced his way along the crowded pavement, "but till the day of my death I hope, please God, to retain my self-respect." The thought inspired him, and he went back to his book-keeping with an unusual light in his eyes--with an additional firmness in his step. ’Twas true that Fate had robbed him of wealth and position, but Fate’s worst buffets could not cause him to act in any way save that becoming a gentleman. *CHAPTER XII.* *KOKO’S WORD.* "We’d better have a cab," said Koko, in his quiet way, as, after Jim’s curt dismissal by Dr Taplow, they walked down the pavement together. "Right you are," groaned Jim. He felt too ill, weak, and miserable to do anything except just agree with everything that was said to him. If the gentle reader has ever been sea-sick he will be in a position to appreciate Jim’s condition.