The Ivory Gate, a new edition. Walter Besant

you love an old woman, George?'

      'Not so well, Elsie,' her lover replied, truthfully. 'At least, I think not. – And oh! Elsie, whenever I do think of the future, my heart goes down into my boots. For the prospect grows darker and darker.'

      Elsie sighed. She knew, already, too well, what was in his mind. Plenty of girls, in these days, know the familiar tale.

      'Darker every day,' he repeated. 'They keep on crowding into the profession by multitudes, as if there was room for any number. They don't understand that what with the decay of the landed interest and of the country towns, and the cutting down of the costs, and the work that goes to accountants, there isn't half the business to do that there was. There don't seem any partnerships to be had for love or money, because the few people who have got a good thing have got no more than enough for themselves. It is no use for the young fellows to start by themselves; so they have got to take whatever they can get, and they are glad to get even a hundred a year to begin with – and I am seven-and-twenty, Elsie, and I'm drawing two hundred pounds a year.'

      'Patience, George! something will turn up. You will find a partnership somewhere.'

      'My child, you might as well tell Robinson Crusoe that a boiled leg of mutton with caper sauce was going to turn up on his desert island. We must not hope for the impossible. I ought to be grateful, I suppose, considering what other men are doing. I am planted in a good solid House. It won't run away, so long as the old man lives.'

      'And after that?'

      'Well, Mr. Dering is seventy-five. But he will not die yet, not for a long time to come. He is made of granite: he is never ill: he never takes a holiday: he works harder than any of his people; and he keeps longer hours. To be sure, if he were to die without taking a partner – well – in that case, there would be an end of everything, I suppose. – Elsie, here's the position.' She knew it already, too well – but it pleased them both to parade the facts as if they were something quite novel. 'Let us face it' – they were always facing it. 'I am Managing Clerk to Dering & Son – I get two hundred pounds a year – I have no prospect of anything better. I am bound all my life to be a servant. Elsie, it is not a brilliant prospect: I found out at school that it was best not to be too ambitious. But – a servant all my life – I confess that did not enter into my head. If I knew any other trade, I would cut the whole business. If there was any mortal thing in the whole world by which I could keep myself, I would try it. But there's nothing. I have but one trade. I can't write novels, or leading articles; I can't play on any instrument; I can't paint or act or sing or anything – I am only a solicitor – that's all. Only a solicitor who can't get on – a clerk, Elsie. No wonder her ladyship turns up her nose – a clerk.' He leaned his chin upon his hands and laughed the conventional laugh of the young man down on his luck.

      'Poor George!' she sighed. In such a case there are only two words of consolation. One may say 'Poor George!' or one may say 'Patience!' There is nothing else to say. Elsie first tried one method and then the other, as a doctor tries first one remedy and then another when Nature sulks and refuses to get well.

      'And,' he went on, piling up the misery, 'I am in love with the sweetest girl in the whole world – and she is in love with me!'

      'Poor George!' she repeated with a smile. 'That is indeed a dreadful misfortune.'

      'I am wasting your youth, Elsie, as well as my own.'

      'If it is wasted for your sake, George, it is well spent. Some day, perhaps – '

      'No – no – not some day – immediately – at once.' The young man changed colour and his eyes sparkled. It was not the first time that he had advanced this revolutionary proposal. 'Let prudence go to the – '

      'Not there, George – oh! not there. To the winds, perhaps, or to that famous city of Palestine. But not there. Why, we might never get her back again – poor Prudence! And we shall be sure to want her all our lives – very badly. We will, if you please, ask her to go for a short voyage for the benefit of her health. We will give her six months' leave of absence: but we shall want her services again after her holiday – if you think we can do without her for so long.'

      'For a whole twelvemonth, Elsie. Let us brave everything, get married at once, live in a garret, and have a splendid time – for a whole twelvemonth – on my two hundred pounds.'

      'And am I to give up my painting?'

      'Well, dear, you know you have not yet had a commission from anybody.'

      'How can you say so, George? I have painted you – and my sister – and my mother – and your sisters. I am sure that no studio even of an R.A. could make a braver show of work. Well – I will give it up – until Prudence returns. Is it to be a garret? A real garret, with sloping walls, where you can only stand upright in the middle?'

      'We call it a garret. It will take the form, I suppose, of a tiny house in a cheap quarter. It will have six rooms, a garden in front and a garden behind. The rent will be thirty pounds. For a whole twelvemonth it will be a real slice of Eden, Elsie, and you shall be Eve.'

      Elsie laughed. 'It will be great fun. We will make the Eden last longer than a twelvemonth. I daresay I shall like it. Of course I shall have to do everything for myself. To clean the doorstep will be equivalent to taking exercise in the fresh air: to sweep the floors will be a kind of afternoon dance or a game of lawn-tennis: to wash up the cups and saucers will be only a change of amusement. – There is one thing, George – one thing' – she became very serious – 'I suppose you never – did you ever witness the scouring of a frying-pan? I don't think I could do that. And did you ever see beef-steaks before they are cooked? They suggest the animal in the most terrible way. I don't really think I could handle those bleeding lumps.'

      'You shan't touch a frying-pan, and we will have nothing roasted or fried. We will live on cold Australian beef eaten out of its native tin: the potatoes shall be boiled in their skins. And perhaps – I don't know – with two hundred pounds a year we could afford a servant – a very little one – just a girl warranted not to eat too much.'

      'What shall we do when our clothes are worn out?'

      'The little maid will make some more for you, I suppose. We certainly shall not be able to buy new things – not nice things, that is – and you must have nice things, mustn't you?'

      'I do like things to be nice,' she replied, smoothing her dainty skirts with her dainty hand. 'George, where shall we find this house – formerly Eve's own country villa before she – resigned her tenancy, you know?'

      'There are places in London where whole streets are filled with families living on a hundred and fifty pounds a year. Checkley – the chief's private clerk – lives in such a place: he told me so himself. He says there is nobody in his parish who has got a bigger income than himself: he's a little king among them because he gets four hundred pounds a year, besides what he has saved – which is enormous piles. Elsie, my dear, we must give up our present surroundings, and take up with gentility in its cheapest form.'

      'Can we not go on living among our own friends?'

      George shook his head wisely. 'Impossible. Friendship means equality of income. You can't live with people unless you do as they do. People of the same means naturally live together. Next door to Lady Dering is another rich Madam, not a clerk's wife. For my own part I shall sell my dress clothes for what they will fetch – you can exchange your evening things for morning things. That won't matter much. Who cares where we live, or how we live, so that we live together? What do you say, Elsie dear?'

      'The garret I don't mind – nor the door-steps – and since you see your way out of the difficulty of the frying-pan – '

      'You will be of age next week, when you can please yourself.'

      'Hilda gives me no peace nor rest. She says that there can be no happiness without money. She has persuaded my mother that I am going to certain starvation. She promises the most splendid establishment if I will only be guided by her.'

      'And marry a man fifty years older than yourself with one foot already well in – '

      'She says she has always been perfectly happy. – Well, George,