CHAPTER VI.



Six months after our friend had left England George Corvick, who
made his living by his pen, contracted for a piece of work which
imposed on him an absence of some length and a journey of some
difficulty, and his undertaking of which was much of a surprise to
me. His brother-in-law had become editor of a great provincial
paper, and the great provincial paper, in a fine flight of fancy,
had conceived the idea of sending a "special commissioner" to
India. Special commissioners had begun, in the "metropolitan
press," to be the fashion, and the journal in question must have
felt it had passed too long for a mere country cousin. Corvick had
no hand, I knew, for the big brush of the correspondent, but that
was his brother-in-law's affair, and the fact that a particular
task was not in his line was apt to be with himself exactly a
reason for accepting it. He was prepared to out-Herod the
metropolitan press; he took solemn precautions against
priggishness, he exquisitely outraged taste. Nobody ever knew it--
that offended principle was all his own. In addition to his
expenses he was to be conveniently paid, and I found myself able to
help him, for the usual fat book, to a plausible arrangement with
the usual fat publisher. I naturally inferred that his obvious
desire to make a little money was not unconnected with the prospect
of a union with Gwendolen Erme. I was aware that her mother's
opposition was largely addressed to his want of means and of
lucrative abilities, but it so happened that, on my saying the last
time I saw him something that bore on the question of his