“Why should I not write and ask her to marry me?” He smiled at the thought, but the thought was stronger than he, and he went to bed thinking of her, and he rose thinking of her; and the desire to write and tell her that he loved her and wanted her for wife persisted; he shook it off a dozen times, but it grew more and more poignant, until it settled on his heart, a lancinating pain which neither work nor pleasure could remove.  Daily he grew feebler, losing at each effort some power of resistance.  One day he took up the pen to write the irrevocable.  But the reality of the ink and paper frightened him.  “Will you be my wife?” seemed to him silly.  Even in this crisis self-esteem lay uppermost in his mind; and he wrote many letters before he felt certain he had guarded himself against ridicule.  At last he folded up a sheet upon which he had written—­“Dearest Lily, you are the only woman I may love; will you allow me to love you for ever?” He put this into an envelope and directed it; nothing remained but to post it.  The clock told him he could catch the post if he started away at once, but he drew back, frightened at the reality of the post-office, and decided to sleep over his letter.

The night was full of Lily—­fair, chaste dreams, whence he rose as from a bath clothed in the samite of pure delight.  While dressing he felt sure that marriage—­marriage with Lily must be the realization of such dreams, and that it would be folly not to post his letter.  Still, it might be as well to hear the opinion of one who had taken the important step, and after breakfast he drew Frank into conversation about Lizzie.

“I am quite happy,” he said.  “Lizzie is a good wife, and I love her better to-day than the day I married her; but the price I paid for her was too high.  Mount Rorke has behaved shamefully, and so has everybody but you.  I never see any of the old lot now.  Snowdown came once to dine about a year ago, but I never go anywhere where Lizzie is not asked.  Mount Rorke has only written once since my marriage, and then it was to say he never wished to see me again.  The next I heard was the announcement of his marriage.”

“So he has married again,” said Mike, looking at Frank, and then he thought—­“So you who came from the top shall go to the bottom!  Shall he who came from the bottom go to the top?”

“I have not heard yet of a child.  I have tried to find out if one is expected; but what does it matter?—­Mount Rorke wouldn’t give me a penny-piece to save me from starvation, and I should have time to starve a good many times before he goes off the hooks.  I don’t mind telling you I’m about as hard up as a man possibly can be.  I owe three quarters’ rent for my rooms in Temple Gardens, nearly two hundred pounds.  The Inn is pressing me, and I can’t get three hundred for my furniture, and I’m sure I paid more than fifteen hundred for what there is there.”

“Why don’t you sell a share in the paper?”