In a city like New York it is not an easy task, nor is it always a profitable one, to besiege a young person that is fortressed in her father's house. And when the house has a cousin for sentinel, and that cousin is jealous, the difficulty is increased. But, time and tact aiding, what obstacle may not be removed? Roland understood all this very thoroughly, and on the day succeeding his return from Tuxedo he examined the directory, strolled into Wall Street, and there, at the shingle of Dunellen, Metuchen, & Such, sent in a card to the senior member of the firm. The Hon. Paul Dunellen--Honest Paul, to the world in which he moved--was a man who in his prime must have been of glad and gallant appearance; but latterly he had shrunk: his back had bent almost into a hump, he held his head lower than his shoulders, but with uplifted chin--a habit which gave him the appearance of being constantly occupied in peering at something which he could not quite discern, an appearance that was heightened by his eyes, which were restless, and by his brows, which were tormented and bushy. He had an ample mouth: when he spoke, the furrows in his cheeks moved with it. His nose was prominent; all his features, even to his ears, were larger than the average mould. When Roland was admitted to the room in which he sat, the first impression which he got from him was that of massiveness in decay. "Mr. Mistrial, I am glad to see you. I knew your father, and I had the honor of knowing your grandfather as well. Will you not take a seat?" The old man had half risen, and in this greeting made manifest something of that courtesy which we are learning to forget. "You are very kind," Roland answered. "It is because of my father that I venture to call. If I interrupt you, though"--and Roland, apparently hesitant, occupied himself in a study of his host--"if I do," he continued, "I beg you will allow me to come again." To this suggestion Mr. Dunellen refused to listen; but during the moments that followed, as Roland succinctly one after the other enumerated the facts in the case of his lost inheritance, the lawyer did listen; and he listened, moreover, with that air of concentrated attention which is the surest encouragement to him who has aught to say. And when Roland had completed the tale of his grievance, he nodded, and stroked his chin. "The matter is perfectly clear," he announced, "though I can't say as much for the law. Undue influence is evident. The trouble will be to invalidate a gift made during the lifetime of the donor; but--" And Mr. Dunellen made a gesture as who should say, It is for that that courts were established. "Yet, tell me, why is it that you have done nothing about it before?"