“Take a seat;” and Mr. Saul suggested the arm-chair, but Harry contented himself with one of the others.  “I hope Mrs. Clavering is well?” “Quite well,” said Harry, cheerfully.  “And your father—­and sister?” “Quite well, thank you,” said Harry, very stiffly.  “I would have come down to you at the rectory,” said Mr. Saul, “instead of bringing you up here; only, as you have heard, no doubt, I and your father have unfortunately had a difference.”  This Mr. Saul said without any apparent effort, and then left Harry to commence the further conversation.

“Of course, you know what I’m come here about?” said Harry.

“Not exactly; at any rate not so clearly but what I would wish you to tell me.”

“You have gone to my father as a suitor for my sister’s hand.”

“Yes, I have.”

“Now you must know that that is altogether impossible—­a thing not to be even talked of.”

“So your father says.  I need not tell you that I was very sorry to hear him speak in that way.”

“But, my dear fellow, you can’t really be in earnest?  You can’t suppose it possible that he would allow such an engagement?”

“As to the latter question, I have no answer to give; but I certainly was, and certainly am in earnest.”

“Then I must say that I think you have a very erroneous idea of what the conduct of a gentleman should be.”

“Stop a moment, Clavering,” said Mr. Saul, rising, and standing with his back to the big fireplace.  “Don’t allow yourself to say in a hurry words which you will afterward regret.  I do not think you can have intended to come here and tell me that I am not a gentleman.”

“I don’t want to have an argument with you; but you must give it up; that’s all.”

“Give what up?  If you mean give up your sister, I certainly shall never do that.  She may give me up, and if you have anything to say on that head, you had better say it to her.”

“What right can you have—­without a shilling in the world—?”

“I should have no right to marry her in such a condition—­with your father’s consent or without it.  It is a thing which I have never proposed to myself for a moment—­or to her.”

“And what have you proposed to yourself?”

Mr. Saul paused a moment before he spoke, looking down at the dusty heaps upon his table, as though hoping that inspiration might come to him from them.  “I will tell you what I have proposed,” said he at last, “as nearly as I can put it into words.  I propose to myself to have the image in my heart of one human being whom I can love above all the world beside; I propose to hope that I, as others, may some day marry, and that she whom I so love may become my wife; I propose to bear with such courage as I can much certain delay, and probable absolute failure in all this; and I propose also to expect—­no, hardly to expect—­that that which I will do for her, she will do for me.  Now you know all my mind, and you may be sure of this, that I will instigate your sister to no disobedience.”