Frank was a little shocked, and he waited stupidly on the threshold. He could see a fragment of Mrs. Brookes's profile, and beneath the clothes the outline of Willy's bony body. “Come in, come in,” he said, “don't stand there filling the room with cold air. Now, what is it? Why the deuce do you come here waking us up at this ungodly hour? What has happened?” “I have proposed to your sister Maggie.” “I am sure I am delighted to hear it, old chap; but I can't help thinking that I could have congratulated you equally as well, if not better, in the morning.” Then, noticing the distressed look in Frank's face, he said: “I hope she has not refused you.” “No; she asked me to wait, she said it would depend--” “Then you may depend it is all right; now go away and let me go to sleep, we'll talk about it in the morning. You can't get back to-night. You are sleeping in Brighton, I suppose? You'll come and breakfast here?” “Yes, with pleasure, but it wasn't exactly to tell that I had proposed to Maggie that I came here to-night; there is something more than that. You know that fellow she calls Charlie? I don't know his other name.” “Stracey?” “I dare say. I mean the man you said you hated more than any man alive; I hate him, too.” “You don't mean to say she is still thinking of that fellow. Has he come back?” “He was at the Manor House all day yesterday.” “If she marries that fellow I'll never speak to her again, it will be dead cuts.” “It is only natural that I should love Maggie. You remember the first day I came down to the Manor House? How young I was then--how young we all were; there are no days like the old days! There is a beautiful poem by Wordsworth; I only remember one line now-- “'When every day was long As twenty days are now'--