Here, at last, was an aim in life. He would put all the old foolish fears behind him and be somebody. The fortune for which he had dared and endured so much should be of some use to him. Ten years of his life had been wasted He would make up for the lost time, and take a place in society. It had been his ambition in the early days of his penury to be a great man, admired, caressed, and fêted. When wealth came to his grasp the ambition faded away, overgrown by a new set of sensations altogether. But the bold words of Marston called the faded fancies into new life. Yes, here was something to live for—fame, position. In the pursuit of them he could forget the past. He paced the library, thinking aloud, for an hour. Mrs. Turvey, passing down the stairs, heard him, and muttered to herself that master seemed uneasier in his conscience than ever. But Mrs. Turvey was wrong. Conscience was torpid for the present. Ambition had taken possession of Gurth Egerton and there was room for nothing else. Conscience and ambition are bad companions. One always lags behind and holds the other back. Gurth Egerton walked himself tired, and then sat down and shut his eyes and looked into the future. He saw himself married to a charming wife, his house filled with gay company, his name in the papers, and his doings on every tongue. He saw himself loved, honoured, and powerful. It was late in the afternoon when Egerton sat down to think. He sat thinking and dreaming till the shadows deepened and darkness crept gently over the room. ‘I _will_ take a position in the world!’ he exclaimed, rising and pacing the room. ‘There is nothing to stand between me and my ambition now. As he uttered the last words he paused opposite the window and gazed out into the street below, in which the dim light of the gas-lamps was struggling with the deepening shadows. He looked out into the quiet street with eyes that wandered far beyond into a world where he was famous and beloved. And as he gazed there crept up the street, between him and his ideal future, a little girl followed by a big mastiff dog. CHAPTER XXII. MR. JABEZ DISSEMBLES. La! Mr. Jabez, what a time it is since you called!’ said Mrs. Turvey, with a toss of the head that sent her cap awry. Mr. Jabez, who had come to see Mr. Egerton on behalf of the firm, and was thus apostrophized in the hall by ‘the guardian angel of the house’ (the title Mr. Duck had himself conferred on her in a poetic flight), felt very uncomfortable. He shone still, but very weakly; his shine was like the second-hand business that the sun indulges in between a snow and a thunderstorm on a modern midsummer day. He stammered out something about business, and went very hot and red, and was intensely relieved when Mr. Egerton called over the bannisters to him. ‘Come up, Duck,’ said Mr. Egerton; and Duck did go up, two stairs at a time. Mrs. Turvey looked after him.