“Whether she would give her eyes or not, I will not pretend to determine; but it is plain she would not pay two hundred guineas ‘to get you out of this scrape.’ Now, where do you intend to get the money?” “Ah, there’s the rub! I have not a farthing, till our next rents come in; and you see these heaps of bills. Then the agent, who manages every thing, Heaven knows how! at Germaine-park, says tenants are breaking; that we are, I do not know how much, in his debt, and that we must sell; but that, if we sell in a hurry, and if our distress be talked of, we shall get nothing for the land, and so shall be ruined outright. Now, this all originates in Mrs. Germaine’s pride and positiveness: she never could be prevailed upon to go down to Germaine-park, these ten years past, because some of the Northamptonshire people affronted her: so our affairs have gone on just as the agent pleases; and he is a rascal, I am convinced, for he is always writing to say we are in his debt. But, indeed, my dear William, you are too good to take any interest in this history of my affairs: I am conscious that I have not treated you well.” “Do not talk of that now: do not think of it, Charles,” interrupted Mr. Darford. “I am come to town on purpose to be of all the service to you I can. I will discharge this writ upon one, and only upon one, condition.” “Upon any condition you please,” cried Charles. “I will give you my bond. I will give you security upon the Germaine estate, if you require it.” “I require no security; I require no bond, Charles; I require only a condition which I believe to be absolutely necessary for your happiness. Promise me you will break off all connexion with this treacherous mistress of yours.” “Treacherous! No, no! I assure you, you mistake the girl.” “Mistake her or not, Charles, without arguing the matter farther, on this one point I must be peremptory; and, positively, the only condition on which I will pay this money is your promise never to see her again.” Charles hesitated. “Upon my soul,” cried he, “I believe the girl will break her heart. But then she is so cursedly extravagant, she ruins me! I would have broken with her long ago, if I could have summoned up courage enough. After all, I believe it was more habit, idleness, and fashion, than any thing else, that made me go to see her so often. When I did not know what to do with myself, or when I was put out of humour at home, I went to this girl. Well, let us say no more about it: she is not worth thinking of; I give her up. You may depend upon it, my dear William, I will have nothing more to do with her. I will, since you make that your ultimatum, never see her again.” “Will you write to her then immediately, to let her know your determination?” “Certainly; immediately.”