Something of his reflections he confided to Hardy as he rose to leave.
"But my market value is about a pound a week," he concluded, ruefully, "so I must cut my coat to suit my cloth.

Good-night." He walked home somewhat soberly at first, but the air was cool and fresh and a glorious moon was riding in the sky.

He whistled cheerfully, and his spirits rose as various chimerical plans of making money occurred to him.

By the time he reached the High Street, the shops of which were all closed for the night, he was earning five hundred a year and spending a thousand.

He turned the handle of the door and, walking in, discovered Miss Kybird entertaining company in the person of Mr.Edward Silk.
"Halloa," he said, airily, as he took a seat.