“I spoke from selfish motives,” he said, at last.  I wanted you to make friends with your father again.”

“What for?” inquired the other, staring.

“To pave the way for me,” said Hardy, raising his voice as he thought of his wrongs; “and now, owing to your confounded matrimonial business, that’s all knocked on the head.  I wouldn’t care whom you married if it didn’t interfere with my affairs so.”

“Do you mean,” inquired the astonished Mr. Nugent, “that you want to be on friendly terms with my father?”

“Yes.”

Mr. Nugent gazed at him round-eyed.  “You haven’t had a blow on the head or anything of that sort at any time, have you?” he inquired.

Hardy shook his head impatiently.  “You don’t seem to suffer from an excess of intellect yourself,” he retorted.  “I don’t want to be offensive again, still, I should think it is pretty plain there is only one reason why I should go out of my way to seek the society of your father.”

“Say what you like about my intellect,” replied the dutiful son, “but I can’t think of even one—­not even a small one.  Not—­Good gracious!  You don’t mean—­you can’t mean—­”

Hardy looked at him.

“Not that,” said Mr. Nugent, whose intellect had suddenly become painfully acute—­“not her?”

“Why not?” inquired the other.

Mr. Nugent leaned back in his chair and regarded him with an air of kindly interest.  “Well, there’s no need for you to worry about my father for that,” he said; “he would raise no objection.”

“Eh?” said Hardy, starting up from his chair.

“He would welcome it,” said Mr. Nugent, positively.  “There is nothing that he would like better; and I don’t mind telling you a secret—­she likes you.”

Hardy reddened.  “How do you know?” he stammered.

“I know it for a fact,” said the other, impressively.  “I have heard her say so.  But you’ve been very plain-spoken about me, Jem, so that I shall say what I think.”

“Do,” said his bewildered friend.

“I think you’d be throwing yourself away,” said Nugent; “to my mind it’s a most unsuitable match in every way.  She’s got no money, no looks, no style.  Nothing but a good kind heart rather the worse for wear.  I suppose you know she’s been married once?”

“What!” shouted the other. “Married?”

Mr. Nugent nodded.  His face was perfectly grave, but the joke was beginning to prey upon his vitals in a manner which brooked no delay.

“I thought everybody knew it,” he said.  “We have never disguised the fact.  Her husband died twenty years ago last——­”

“Twenty” said his suddenly enlightened listener.  “Who?—­What?”

Mr. Nugent, incapable of reply, put his head on the table and beat the air frantically with his hand, while gasping sobs rent his tortured frame.

“Dear—­aunt,” he choked, “how pleas—­pleased she’d be if—­she knew.  Don’t look like that, Hardy.  You’ll kill me.”