suit.  It cost him not a little suffering altogether to abandon his hopes, for the Princess had captivated him, and if he could have made her his wife he would—­for at least twelve months—­have been a proud and exultant man.  But all that was over; Daniel was heart-free, when he again began to occupy himself with womankind; it was a very different person towards whom he found himself attracted.  This was Emma Vine.

After that chance meeting with Mrs. Clay in the omnibus he lost sight of the sisters for a while, but one day Kate came to the public-house and desired to see him.  She was in great misery.  Emma had fallen ill, gravely ill, and Kate had no money to pay a doctor.  The people in the house, where she lodged were urging her to send for the parish doctor, but that was an extremity to be avoided as long as a single hope remained.  She had come to borrow a few shillings> in order that she might take Emma in a cab to the hospital; perhaps they would receive her as an in-patient.  Daniel put his hand in his pocket.  He did more; though on the point of returning from breakfast to his work, he sacrificed the morning to accompany Mrs. Clay and help her to get the sick girl to the hospital.  Fortunately it was found possible to give her a bed; Emma remained in the hospital for seven weeks.

Daniel was not hasty in forming attachments.  During the seven weeks he called three or four times to inquire of Mrs. Clay what progress her sister was making, but when Emma came home again, and resumed her usual work, he seemed to have no further interest in her.  At length Kate came to the public-house one Saturday night and wished to pay back half the loan.  Daniel shook his head.  ’All right, Mrs. Clay; don’t you hurt yourself.  Let it wait till you’re a bit better off.’  Nicholas was behind the bar, and when Kate had gone he asked his brother if he hadn’t observed something curious in Mrs. Clay’s behaviour.  Daniel certainly had; the brothers agreed that she must have been drinking rather more than was good for her.

‘I shouldn’t wonder,’ said Daniel, ‘if she started with the whole o’ the money.’

Which, indeed, was a true conjecture.

Time went on, and Daniel had been six months a licensed victualler.  It was summer once more, and thirsty weather.  Daniel stood behind the bar in his shirt sleeves, collarless for personal ease, with a white waistcoat, and trousers of light tweed.  Across his stomach, which already was more portly than in his engineering days, swayed a heavy gold chain; on one of his fingers was a demonstrative ring.  His face and neck were very red; his hair, cropped extremely short, gleamed with odorous oils.  You could see that he prided himself on the spotlessness of his linen; his cuffs were turned up to avoid alcoholic soilure; their vast links hung loose for better observance by customers.  Daniel was a smiling and a happy man.