on the beggar maids; but let poor men, and especially young lawyers, get busy elsewhere." At the beginning of this tirade John had looked up in surprise. At its close he was smiling meditatively at the dingy wall. "Poor men, even young lawyers, have their pride," he remarked, when the judge had finished. "Stuff and nonsense. That's another false standard set up by the poets. You're an orphan, John, nobody nearer, as I understand it, than an uncle or an aunt here and there, and that's one reason I'm talking to you like a father. Another reason is that you've been a trump in your relations with me. You've served me well; but besides that, I haven't been insensible to the civility you've shown Sylvia. You've scarcely ever been in Boston without looking in on her and bringing me the latest bulletin. Do you suppose I haven't appreciated how often you and Edna have added her to the outings you've had together, theatres, and concerts, and all that business? Very expensive, and very bad judgment, all that, if it hadn't been justified by such an end in view as Edna herself. Now, you take it from me: I've lived a good deal longer than you, and I've seen a host of folks get married, even if I haven't got in the game myself; and when a rich woman wants a man, it's blind foolishness to keep her waiting while he builds up his bank account. Let him build it up afterward. No law against that. I've observed a number of signs, Boy, that show that your habits and tastes are extravagant; then the more reason that you should act, and act promptly." A laugh escaped Dunham. "Has it come to this!" he returned. "I never expected you to urge me in this direction." The judge made an expansive gesture. "Simply because I expect you'll marry anyway, and Edna Derwents don't grow on every bush. Can't you understand? Of course, I don't know much about your finances, really." "Is that the whole question?" asked Dunham. "If I didn't need a banker, should you be reminding me that a young man married is a man that's marred, and all that sort of thing?" "No,"--the judge shrugged his little shoulders. "Things have gone too far for that." He began to cut open his niece's letter. "After your tearing up that deed, I'm not the man to waste my energy." He leaned back in his chair, and began to read the letter. Dunham endeavored to fix his attention on his work; but the corners of the judge's lips were drawing down, and once John thought he started. The silk hat was pushed to the last extremity of the back of his head; and once he slowly turned and cast a look at his assistant. Dunham, like a schoolboy discovered in idleness, cleared his throat and began making an ostentatious stir among his papers. When Judge Trent finally folded the letter his face wore an expression that few had seen upon it. His eyes fastened on a spot upon his desk, while his thoughts wrestled.