"Faust—Faust," interrupted Gammon, curiously.
"Well; and now, what was the name of that fellow that was always—Meph—Meph—what was it?"
"Mephistopheles," replied Gammon, unable to repress a smile.
"Ah—yes! so it was. That's all; I only wanted to think of the name—I'd forgotten it. I beg your pardon, Gammon."
This was poor Mr. Quirk's way of being very sarcastic with his friend. He thought that he had now cut him to the very quick.
"If it hadn't been for what's passed between us to-day, Gammon, I should almost begin to think that you were not sincere in your friendship"——
"Did I ever deceive you? Did I ever attempt to overreach you in anything, Mr. Quirk?"
"N—o—o—," replied Mr. Quirk—but not in the readiest manner, or most confident tone in the world,—"I certainly can't say I ever found you out—but I'll tell you what, we each keep a precious sharp look-out after each other, too—don't we?" he inquired with a faint smile, which seemed for a moment reflected upon the face of Gammon.
"How long," said the latter, "I am to be the subject of such unkind suspicions, I do not know; but your nature is suspicious; and as every one has his fault, that is the alloy in the otherwise pure gold of your manly, generous, and straightforward character. Time may show how you have wronged me. My anxious wish is, Mr. Quirk, to witness your daughter occupying a position in which we may all be proud to see her." Here a smile shot across Quirk's anxious countenance, like evening sunshine on troubled waters.
"I do really believe, Gammon," said he, eagerly, "that Dora's just the kind of girl to suit Titmouse"——