“I couldn’t but contrast this kindness on the part of a clerk, for whom I have never done anything beyond paying him his well-earned salary, with the conduct of Mr. Bullion.  I gave him my indorsement repeatedly, and assisted him in procuring loans, when he was not so rich as he is now.  I know he has resources, ready money,—­money that he does not need for any outstanding debts, but which he must keep for speculation.  But he refused to do anything.  ‘Couldn’t,’ he said, ’really; times were hard; everybody wanted to borrow; couldn’t lend to everybody; hadn’t the funds; much as he could do to stand up himself.’  There was no sincerity in his look.  I saw his soul skulking away behind his subterfuges like a spider in the depths of his flimsy web.  He seems to thrive, however, in the midst of general ruin.  I’ve no doubt he lives like a vulture, on the dead and dying.”

“Is Mr. Bullion that short man, father, with the cold eyes and gruff voice, and the queer eyebrow which he seems to poke at people?”

“Yes, my daughter, that is the man.”

“Well, I’m sure, he is coarse, disagreeable, hard-hearted.  I’m glad you are not under obligations to him.”

“My only regret is that I had the mortification of being refused.  I wish I had never asked him.  I can’t think of his look and tone without a pang of shame, or wounded pride, if you choose to call it so, harder to bear than a blow in the face.  I had a claim upon his gratitude, but he remembers a favor no more than a wolf does the mutton he ate a year ago.—­But enough of business.  The bitterness has passed since we have talked together.  Let us be cheerful.  Come, Clara, sing some of those sweet old ballads!”

From her infancy until now in her twentieth year, Clara had been constantly with her father,—­but she had never known him before.

CHAPTER XX.

Early next morning the officer in charge of Mr. Sandford’s house was relieved by a brother constable.  Number Two was a much more civil person in speech and manner than Number One; in fact, he speedily made himself so agreeable to the housemaid that she brought him a cup of coffee, and looked admiringly while he swallowed it.  By the time Mrs. Sandford and Marcia came down to breakfast, he had established an intimacy with Biddy that was quite charming to look upon.  One would have thought he was an old friend of the household,—­a favored crony; such an easy, familiar air he assumed.  He accosted the ladies with great gallantry,—­assured them that they were looking finely,—­hoped they had passed a pleasant night, and that Number One had given them no unnecessary inconvenience.  Marcia met him with a haughty stare which nobody but a woman of fashion can assume.  Turning to Mrs. Sandford, she exclaimed,—­

“Who is this fellow?”

Number Two hastened to answer for himself:—­

“My name, Ma’am, is Scarum, Harum Scarum some of the young lawyers call me.  Ha!” (A single laugh, staccato.)