To thrust all love for Bella out of his heart was now the bitter task to which he must set himself, and perhaps to replace her image by one of the many heiresses to whom his mother so often drew his attention; but that could not be. Jolly, good-hearted Jerry would never condescend to be mercenary; he felt that he would rather a thousand times share poverty with a loving little girl like Bella than wealth with another. Matters had not yet come to poverty--far from it; but now, and after all that had transpired, and he had learned who the holder of these fatal mortgages was, how could he speak to her or her father of love or marriage without being most cruelly and degradingly misunderstood, and having his object utterly misconstrued? 'And the interest on the mortgages?' he asked, in a hard, dry tone. 'Has been unpaid for several years.' 'Making matters worse and worse. It was six per cent. on Langley Park, Mr. Chevenix, and that is stiff interest as things go.' 'Yes, it _was_.' 'You speak of it in the past tense.' 'Yes.' 'Worse and worse,' assented Mr. Chevenix, shaking his white head. 'But bear up, my dear boy. I may call you so?' added the old man, kindly patting Jerry's shoulder. 'Money will pull you through. A handsome young fellow like you, with your family prestige, will easily find a rich wife, and an officer has a hundred chances of success when other fellows have none.' Jerry had not the heart to ask what the total sum of his liabilities amounted to, and rose to depart. 'Bid Miss Chevenix good-bye for me,' said he, as he departed in haste, having just then no desire to add to the intense mortification that crushed him by looking again on the bright face of the unconscious Bella--for unconscious she was of what their mutual monetary relations were till her father some time after informed her, when the news came to her perhaps too late. Sunk in thoughts too bitter for words, Jerry rode slowly home through the dusk of the gloomy winter evening. The barriers raised by evil fortune, and added to by a sense of honour and propriety, enhanced in his eyes the value of the girl he felt that he had lost, and rendered dearer to him the hopes he had been cherishing of late, and which had become so precious to him. He longed for the society and advice of Goring over a 'quiet weed' to talk about these things ere he confided the state of matters to his mother, who, with all her great love of him, he feared could not be brought to see how matters stood with regard to the estate and the encumbrances thereon. When he joined her in the drawing-room before dinner, the careworn expression of his face--an expression all unusual to him--certainly struck her, but for a time only. 'You have been with Mr. Chevenix?' she asked. 'Yes, mother.' 'And he has worried you with business.' 'Yes; his daughter is coming to the ball. Here is her reply; I brought it with me,' said he, with an irrepressible sigh.