“Having been thus enabled to place my sisters beyond the reach of poverty, my last scruple, in regard to that which you are pleased to call my absurd Quixotism, about the entailed estates, has vanished; and I, this evening, signified _in proprid persona_ to Sir Thomas, my willingness to ‘do a little bit of Esau,’ as you irreverently term signing away my birthright--and here, _par parenthèse_, let me observe that you are too much addicted to this style of scriptural jesting--a fault the more to be reprehended because (as I find to my cost) it is decidedly infectious: _verbum sat!_ The aforesaid ‘Sir Thomas’ seems, as far as one can judge on so short an acquaintance, by no means so black as he is painted; indeed, upon many of the great social questions of the day, his ideas coincide wonderfully with my own: he was polite in the extreme, though I must confess his amiability _followed_ my declaration that I was willing to meet his wishes in regard to the entail. “This epistle has run to such an unexpected length, that I have no room to detail my adventure, and will merely stimulate your curiosity by adding that it was intensely romantic, and that it contained the elements of the two things which, in the old Trinity days, we esteemed the greatest pleasures in life--viz., a fight and a flirtation. “In consideration of my cloth, I indulged, in the first sparingly, and abstained from the last entirely; though, as far as the twilight enabled me to judge, the provocation was a very fair one. I know the epithet this confession will obtain for me; but I had rather bear the ignominy of being considered a ‘muff,’ than merit the designation of a ‘fast parson;’ and so fare thee well. “Yours ever, “Ernest Carrington.” “P.S.--Remember, my sisters are not to know that I am sacrificing anything to add to their income; you are merely to inform them that, my father’s affairs being at length arranged, they will for the future be in the receipt of six hundred and fifty pounds per annum, instead of the four hundred which you before paid to them; and the delightful mist through which all women regard business matters, will effectually prevent their making any further discoveries.” Having sealed his letter, Ernest betook himself to bed, and fell asleep as contentedly as if he had not sacrificed an estate worth £10,000 to a chivalrous scruple, and a patrimony of £200 a-year to brotherly affection. Sir Thomas Crawley might consider him a weak-minded, good-natured fool; Milford designate him a “muff.” But if there were a few mere such muffs and fools in this realm of good King Mammon, that same kingdom might be better worth living in.