The preceding chapter was written soon after the events it records--that
is to say in the spring of 1867. By that time my story had been written
up to this point; but it has been altered here and there from time to
time occasionally. It is now the autumn of 1882, and if I am to say more
I should do so quickly, for I am eighty years old and though well in
health cannot conceal from myself that I am no longer young. Ernest
himself is forty-seven, though he hardly looks it.
He is richer than ever, for he has never married and his London and North-
Western shares have nearly doubled themselves. Through sheer inability
to spend his income he has been obliged to hoard in self-defence. He
still lives in the Temple in the same rooms I took for him when he gave
up his shop, for no one has been able to induce him to take a house. His
house, he says, is wherever there is a good hotel. When he is in town he
likes to work and to be quiet. When out of town he feels that he has
left little behind him that can go wrong, and he would not like to be
tied to a single locality. "I know no exception," he says, "to the rule
that it is cheaper to buy milk than to keep a cow.
Pages:
655
656
657
658
659
660
661
662
663
664
665
666
667
668
669
670
671
672
673
674
675
676
677
678
679