The postillion's eye was more on the purse than on the sum it surrendered.
'There,' said Evan, 'I shall walk.

Good night.' And he flung his cloak to step forward.
'Stop a bit, sir!' arrested him.
The postillion rallied up sideways, with an assumption of genial respect.

'I didn't calc'late myself in that there amount.' Were these words, think you, of a character to strike a young man hard on the breast, send the blood to his head, and set up in his heart a derisive chorus?
My gentleman could pay his money, and keep his footing gallantly; but to be asked for a penny beyond what he possessed; to be seen beggared, and to be claimed a debtor-aleck! Pride was the one developed faculty of Evan's nature.

The Fates who mould us, always work from the main-spring.

I will not say that the postillion stripped off the mask for him, at that instant completely; but he gave him the first true glimpse of his condition.