"Bah! Idiot! Young fool!" chuckled Hopper. "She won't marry Fred. I'd sooner poison her. Drink! You care for her, don't you?" "I do," said Tom fervently. "Then drink to her happiness, and don't be a selfish ass. If you can't have her, don't grudge the pretty little sweet bit of fruit to some one else. Drink." "Jessie!" said Tom, softly and reverently; and he drained his glass. "You're getting better," chuckled Hopper; "and I shall make you well before I've done." Certainly a great change did come over Tom Fraser as he partook of the excellent dinner brought in nice and hot by the neat servant; the old fellow seeming to be far less hard of hearing than usual, and chuckling and laughing as he took his wine freely, opened a fresh bottle, and finally brought out pipes and cigars, as the dinner was replaced by dessert. "Thought I was poor, did you, Tom, my boy?" he cried, slapping the other on the shoulder. "I'm not, you see; but that's my secret. Your step-father's got his; your Uncle Dick his; so I don't see why I shouldn't have mine. I never bring anybody here hardly. Your father has never been, nor your Uncle Dick neither. Lucky dog! He's made lots of money, and goes on making it too, a fox--and hang me if I know how." "The same way as you, perhaps." "No, that he don't I do a bit in the City, and speculate in a few bills occasionally. I've got paper with names on that would startle you, I'll be bound." "I daresay," said Tom sadly. "There, there, man! take another glass of your medicine. You're coming out bad with your old complaint again--lovesickness." "Ah!" cried Tom, who had, like his host, got into the confidential stage. "You don't know what it means." "I don't know what it means?" cried the old fellow, rising, and leaning his hands on the table as he laid down his pipe. "Look there, Tom Fraser--look there!" he cried, crossing to a drawer, unlocking it hastily, and taking out an old-fashioned miniature of a very beautiful woman. "My grandmother!" said Tom, starting, as he held the portrait to the light. "And my love," said the old fellow, in a softened, changed voice. "Yes, Tom, I loved her very dearly--as dearly as I hated the man who took her from me. Not that she ever cared for me. Hah! she was an angel. Your grandfather was a scoundrel, and the blood of the two has run its different courses. Women somehow like scoundrels," he said, as he reverently put away the miniature. "They do," groaned Tom. "But not all, Tom--not all. There, man, fill up and drink. Here's my little darling Jessie--your darling, if you're the man I take you for." "If you talk like that, I must go," said Tom. "Hey? What! go? Stuff, man! Have a little faith. I don't say Jessie's perfect; but she's a better girl than you believe her. Try her again, man." Tom shook his head. "Fred is always there in my light."