the devil—I say, what the devil would you do if you had a son like that to deal with?"
The squire absolutely had to stop for breath, and Doctor Syn, who had been vainly trying to get a word in edgewise, replied: "Well, sir, I should candidly confess that my son was a lucky dog if he succeeded in getting her, and which, I should very much doubt. In fact, were I in your place, I should go so far as to bet my wig that he would never win the girl. I'm very fond of Denis, devoted to him in fact, but I'm afraid he'll have a great difficulty in marrying Imogene."
"I should damn well bet my eyes he will, sir! I need none to tell me that. Difficulty in marrying her? Aye, that he will. My son will marry position, sir—money, sir—and if beauty comes along of it, well, then, beauty, sir, and all the better for my son, sir."
"And provided of course that the lady is willing," put in the vicar.
"Willing? What minx wouldn't be only too damned willing to marry my son—old Cobtree's son; and not so old either, sir, eh? Why, any woman would jump at the chance! And as for a bargirl, the daughter of a dirty pirate hanged in that silly conceited little town of Rye, why, pooh-pooh, my dear Doctor! Laughable!"
"Well, I think differently in this case, Squire," said the Doctor. "I should call Denis a lucky dog. I might even stretch a point and, at the risk of being un-
