Fanny Lowndes had turned about with her fine eyes drowned in tears, her strong hands clutched together in an agony of entreaty; and just then Harry felt that he could forgive her father much, but never for the grief and shame which he first heaped upon the girl, and then forced her to display. "It's a queer thing, Ringrose," observed Lowndes, "that women never can be got to take a sensible view of these matters. Your mother--my daughter--they're every one of them alike." He swung on his heel with a shrug, and went into the outer office to meet his friend Backhouse, who here returned from the usual errand. A trembling hand fell on Harry's arm. "Do not think the worst of him!" whispered Fanny. "It is only on your account," was his reply. "But he is so good to me!" "Yet yesterday he let you think that all was well." "He wanted to give me a pleasure while he could." Harry looked in the brave wet eyes, and his heart gave a sudden bound. "How staunch you are!" he murmured. "He is a lucky man who has you at his back!" Then he followed her father into the outer office, saying he must go, but that he would be back in an hour for his bag. He was back in less. His interview with Messrs. Walter Shuttleworth (one gentleman) had proved but little more satisfactory than any of his other interviews. Still, here was a man who had need of Harry, and that was something. He was the first. Harry rather took to him. He was a dashing young fellow, a public-school man; and it was a public-school man such as Harry that he wanted in his office. At present he appeared to keep but one juvenile clerk, a size larger than Lowndes's--and he had no partner. This was the opening which was dimly and dexterously held out to Harry as an ultimate probability. And for one dazzling moment Harry felt that here was his chance in life at last. But when he came to ask questions, the fabric fell to pieces like all the rest, and he knew that he was sitting in Mr. Shuttleworth's office for the last time as well as for the first. For, though the premium was to be returned "in salary," it would only be returned during the last twelvemonth of Harry's articles, and for four weary years he must work for nothing. He shook his head; he was bitterly disappointed. He was then told that the proposed arrangement was an offer in a thousand; but that he knew. He took his hat, simply saying he could never afford it. But he was asked to think it over and to write again, for he was just the sort of fellow for the place; and this he promised to do, because it seemed just the sort of place for him.