And the affair cost Horace a good deal besides money.  But what could Horace do?  He decidedly would not have wished to wreck the happiness of two young and beautiful lives, even had he possessed the power to do so.  And he did not possess the power.  Those two did not consult Horace before falling in love.  They merely fell in love, and there was an end of it—­and an end of Horace too!  Horace had to suffer.  He did suffer.

Perhaps it was for his highest welfare that other matters came to monopolize his mind.  One sorrow drives out another.  If you sit on a pin you are apt to forget that you have the toothache.  The earthenware manufactory was not going well.  Plenty of business was being done, but not at the right prices.  Crushed between the upper and nether millstones of the McKinley Tariff and German competition, Horace, in company with other manufacturers, was breathing out his life’s blood in the shape of capital.  The truth was that he had never had enough capital.  He had heavily mortgaged the house at Toft End in order to purchase his partners’ shares in the business and have the whole undertaking to himself, and he profoundly regretted it.  He needed every penny that he could collect; the strictest economy was necessary if he meant to survive the struggle.  And here he was paying eight pounds a week to a personage purely ornamental, after having squandered hundreds in rendering that personage comfortable!  The situation was dreadful.

You may ask, Why did he not explain the situation to Sidney?  Well, partly because he was too kind, and partly because he was too proud, and partly because Sidney would not have understood.  Horace fought on, keeping up a position in the town and hoping that miracles would occur.

Then Ella’s expectations were realized.  Sidney and she had some twenty thousand pounds to play with.  And they played the most agreeable games.  But not in Bursley.  No.  They left Horace in Bursley and went to Llandudno for a spell.  Horace envied them, but he saw them off at the station as an elder brother should, and tipped the porters.

Certainly he was relieved of the formality of paying eight pounds a week to his brother.  But this did not help him much.  The sad fact was that ‘things’ (by which is meant fate, circumstances, credit, and so on) had gone too far.  It was no longer a question of eight pounds a week; it was a question of final ruin.

Surely he might have borrowed money from Sidney?  Sidney had no money; the money was Ella’s, and Horace could not have brought himself to borrow money from a woman—­from Ella, from a heavenly creature who always had a soothing sympathetic word for him.  That would have been to take advantage of Ella.  No, if you suggest such a thing, you do not know Horace.

I stated in the beginning that he had no faults.  He was therefore absolutely honest.  And he called his creditors together while he could yet pay them twenty shillings in the pound.  It was a noble act, rare enough in the Five Towns and in other parts of England.  But he received no praise for it.  He had only done what every man in his position ought to do.  If Horace had failed for ten times the sum that his debts actually did amount to, and then paid two shillings in the pound instead of twenty, he would have made a stir in the world and been looked up to as no ordinary man of business.