Charley gulped down his glass of wine, and then sat staring at the fire, saying nothing further. It was true enough that he was very poor--true enough that Miss Golightly's fortune would set him on his legs, and make a man of him--true enough, perhaps, that no other expedient of which he could think would do so. But then there were so many arguments that were 'strong against the deed.' In the first place, he thought it impossible that he should be successful in such a suit, and then again it would hardly be honest to obtain such success, if it were possible; then, thirdly, he had no sort of affection whatsoever for Miss Golightly; and fourthly, lastly, and chiefly, he loved so dearly, tenderly, loved poor Katie Woodward. As he thought of this, he felt horror-stricken with himself at allowing the idea of his becoming a suitor to another to dwell for an instant on his mind, and looking up with all the resolution which he was able to summon, he said--'It's impossible, Alaric, quite impossible! I couldn't do it.' 'Then what do you mean to do?' said Alaric, who was angry at having his scheme thus thwarted; 'do you mean to be a beggar?--or if not, how do you intend to get out of your difficulties?' 'I trust not a beggar,' said Charley, sadly. 'What other hope have you? what rational hope of setting yourself right?' 'Perhaps I may do something by writing,' said Charley, very bashfully. 'By writing! ha, ha, ha,' and Alaric laughed somewhat cruelly at the poor navvy--' do something by writing! what will you do by writing? will you make £20,000--or 20,000 pence? Of all trades going, that, I should say, is likely to be the poorest for a poor man--the poorest and the most heart-breaking. What have you made already to encourage you?' 'The editor says that 'Crinoline and Macassar' will come to £4 10s.' 'And when will you get it?' 'The editor says that the rule is to pay six months after the date of publication. The _Daily Delight_ is only a new thing, you know. The editor says that, if the sale comes up to his expectations, he will increase the scale of pay.' 'A prospect of £4 10s. for a fortnight's hard work! That's a bad look-out, my boy; you had better take the heiress.' 'It may be a bad look-out,' said Charley, whose spirit was raised by his cousin's sneers--'but at any rate it's honest. And I'll tell you what, Alaric, I'd sooner earn £50 by writing for the press, than get £1,000 in any other way you can think of. It may be a poor trade in one way; and authors, I believe, are poor; but I am sure it has its consolations.'