and it was more than flattery to fancy her dear boy mingling in the pleasures and fascinations of the great world, courted and admired, as she could imagine he would be; but there were still drawbacks to all these. The position was that of a dependant; and how would Tony figure in such a post? He was the finest-tempered, most generous creature in the world, where no attempt to overbear interfered; but any show of offensive superiority would make a tiger of him. “Well, well,” thought she, “it's not to be rejected all at once, and I 'll just talk it over with the minister.” “May I consult an old friend and neighbor of mine, sir, before I speak to Tony himself?” said she, timidly. “By all means, madam; or, if you like it better, let me call on him, and enter more fully into my plan than I have ventured to do with you.” “No, thank you, sir. I 'll just talk the matter over with the doctor, and I 'll see what he says to it all. This seems a very ungracious way to meet your great kindness, sir; but I was thinking of what awhile ago you called my deposit, and so it is,--it's all the wealth I possess,--and even the thought of resigning it is more than I can bear.” “I hope to convince you one of these days, madam, that you have not invested unprofitably;” and with many courteous assurances that, decide how she might, his desire to serve her should remain, he took his leave, bequeathing, as he passed out, a glow of hope to the poor widow's heart, not the less cheering that she could not freely justify nor even define it. CHAPTER XIII. TONY IN TOWN Day followed day, and Tony Butler heard nothing from the Minister. He went down each morning to Downing Street, and interrogated the austere doorkeeper, till at length there grew up between that grim official and himself a state of feeling little short of hatred. “No letter?” would say Tony. “Look in the rack,” was the answer. “Is this sort of thing usual?” “What sort of thing?” “The getting no reply for a week or eight days?” “I should say it is very usual with certain people.” “What do you mean by certain people?” “Well, the people that don't have answers to the letters, nor ain't likely to have them.” “Might I ask you another question?” said Tony, lowering his voice, and fixing a very quiet but steady look on the other. “Yes, if it's a short one.” “It's a very short one. Has no one ever kicked you for your impertinence?” “Kicked _me_,--kicked _me_, sir!” cried the other, while his face became purple with passion. “Yes,” resumed Tony, mildly; “for let me mention it to you in confidence, it's the last thing I mean to do before I leave London.” “We 'll see about this, sir, at once,” cried the porter, who rushed through the inner door, and tore upstairs like a madman. Tony meanwhile brushed some dust off his coat with a stray clothes-brush near, and was turning to leave the spot, when Skeffington came hurriedly towards him, trying to smother a fit of laughter that would not be repressed.