"My dear, it doesn't make me die a bit sooner, to be prepared, and to try to prepare you. I may live for the next twenty years; but I want to arrange everything—to make everything as easy for you as I can, if I should be summoned away suddenly. I hope you will marry early; but until you do, I should like you to live with your uncle and aunt. Mind, I don't oblige you to do so. But they are fond of you, and you like them; and, if I should be taken, they are your natural protectors."
This was said in the brougham, as they drove one foggy morning to Gray's Inn. In the outer office sat a young man, who looked fixedly over his desk at Mr. and Miss Shaw as they passed through to the inner sanctuary, where his uncle, Mr. Twisden, awaited them. George Daintree had been for three years in the office. He was an astute young man, with great business capacity, and an excellent address. His uncle had implicit confidence in him, and had found him so clever, that no doubt (being childless) he would ultimately take him into partnership. George was not absolutely good-looking, but he had a fresh Saxon look; clean shaven, with light curly hair, keen blue eyes, and brilliant teeth. It would have been difficult to say what his features were; no matter, the impression left was agreeable, being one of acute intelligence and perfect temper. His linen appeared unusually white, and he was scrupulously neat. Some people produce an effect of cleanliness and neatness which is unfair on others. Daintree was of the number. Anthony had seen the young man once or twice, and shook hands with him on leaving the office. He was not introduced
