“Flo isn’t gone yet,” said Mr. Burton.

“But I hope, B., it’s not to be a long engagement.  I don’t like long engagements.  It ain’t good—­not for the girl; it ain’t, indeed.”

“We were engaged for seven years.”

“People weren’t so much in a hurry then at anything; but I ain’t sure it was very good for me.  And though we weren’t just married, we were living next door and saw each other.  What’ll come to Flo if she’s to be here and he’s to be up in London, pleasuring himself?”

“Flo must bear it as other girls do,” said the father, as he got up from his chair.

“I think he’s a good young man; I think he is,” said the mother.  “But don’t stand out for too much for ’em to begin upon.  What matters?  Sure, if they were to be a little short you could help ’em.”  To such a suggestion as this Mr. Burton thought it as well to make no answer, but with ponderous steps descended to his office.

“Well, Harry,” said Mr. Burton, “so you’re to be off in the morning?”

“Yes, sir; I shall breakfast at home to-morrow.”

“Ah—­when I was your age, I always used to make an early start.  Three hours before breakfast never does any hurt.  But it shouldn’t be more than that.  The wind gets into the stomach.”  Harry had no remark to make on this, and waited, therefore, till Mr. Burton went on.  “And you’ll be up in London by the 10th of next month?”

“Yes, sir; I intend to be at Mr. Beilby’s office on the 11th.”

“That’s right.  Never lose a day.  In losing a day now, you don’t lose what you might earn now in a day, but what you might be earning when you’re at your best.  A young man should always remember that.  You can’t dispense with a round in the ladder going up.  You only make your time at the top so much the shorter.”

“I hope you’ll find that I’m all right, sir.  I don’t mean to be idle.”

“Pray don’t.  Of course, you know, I speak to you very differently from what I should do if you were simply going away from my office.  What I shall have to give Florence will be very little—­that is, comparatively little.  She shall have a hundred a year, when she marries, till I die; and after my death and her mother’s she will share with the others.  But a hundred a year will be nothing to you.”

“Won’t it, sir?  I think a very great deal of a hundred a year.  I’m to have a hundred and fifty from the office; and I should be ready to marry on that to-morrow.”

“You couldn’t live on such an income—­unless you were to alter your habits very much.”

“But I will alter them.”

“We shall see.  You are so placed, that by marrying you would lose a considerable income; and I would advise you to put off thinking of it for the next two years.”

“My belief is, that settling down would be the best thing in the world to make me work.”

“We’ll try what a year will do.  So Florence is to go to your father’s house at Easter?”