of dishonour thrust between our teeth. That will be the end
of everything."

M. Fromentin finished in tremulous, grave tones.
After looking with blurred eyes for a moment into Thorpe's face,
he bowed his head, and softly swayed the knees upon
which his thin, dark hands maintained their clutch.
Not even the revelation of hair quite white at the roots,
unduly widening the track of parting on the top of his
dyed head, could rob this movement of its mournful dignity.

Thorpe, after a moment's pause, took a pencil and paper
from the desk, and made a calculation. He bit his lips
and frowned at the sight of these figures, and set
down some others, which seemed to please him no more.
Then, with a sudden gesture as of impatience, he rose to his feet.

"How much is that sister's marriage portion you spoke of?"
he asked, rather brusquely.

The French gentleman had also risen. He looked with an air
of astonishment at his questioner, and then hardened his face.
"I apologize for mentioning it," he said, with brevity.
"One does not speak of family affairs."

"I asked you how much it was," pursued Thorpe, in a masterful tone.
"A man doesn't want to rob a girl of her marriage portion."

"I think I must not answer you," the other replied,
hesitatingly. "It was the fault of my emotion to introduce