“But he may not be anxious to marry before the 1st of May.  Then what?”

“Poor thing! how little you understand mankind!  He will marry you at twenty-four hours’ notice, if you will let him.  All men are alike impatient and unreasonable in such matters.  It is the women who hold back—­after they are safely engaged.”

“La, pa! how knowingly you talk!”

“I flatter myself I know something of the human species,” returned Mr.
Whedell.  “Ah! another ring.  Too faint for a creditor.  Mr.
Chiffield, perhaps.”

CHAPTER II.

PLAYING WITH THE LINE.

The conjecture was correct.  But with Mr. Chiffield came Matthew Maltboy.  They had arrived on the door steps at the same moment, coming from different directions.

Mr. Whedell received Chiffield with his heartiest grip, and inflicted only a mild squeeze on the hand of Maltboy, whose appearance at that time he considered decidedly unfortunate.  The father thought he had observed in Clementina signs of preference for that corpulent young lawyer.  He was pained to see that Clementina barely extended the tips of her fingers to Chiffield, while to Maltboy she gave her whole palm with great cordiality.  Not only this, but she encouraged Maltboy to take a seat by her, and commenced talking with him of the opera, of balls, of new music, of fashions, of the last novel, rattling away on these subjects as if her whole soul were wrapped up in the discussion.  It was almost a monologue.  Maltboy’s part consisted of “Yes;” “I think so too;” “We agree perfectly,” and adjectives of admiration occasionally thrown in.  That musical voice!  He could have listened with rapture to its recital of the multiplication table.

Mr. Chiffield and Mr. Whedell had settled themselves on a tete-a-tete, and, after some cursory observations on the weather, commenced talking of finance—­a theme of which neither of those gentlemen ever tired.

“So money is getting tighter?” said Mr. Whedell, after a pause to digest the awful truth which Mr. Chiffield had imparted to him.  “Now I shouldn’t be surprised, sir, to hear of failures before long, and in quarters where the public least expect them.”

If Mr. Whedell’s double eyeglass had been astride his nose instead of swinging in his fingers, he might have noticed a faint paleness blending with the deep yellow of Mr. Chiffield’s complexion.  That gentleman replied, a little more quickly than was his wont: 

“A few small, weak houses may go down, perhaps, but the strong ones will weather the storm easy enough.  If our establishment could live through 1847, it is in no danger now.”

“And such was the good fortune of Upjack, Chiffield & Co., I well remember,” said Mr. Whedell.

Mr. Chiffield bowed his gracious acknowledgment of the handsome historical allusion.

“How is Erie, Mr. Chiffield?”