After all, she could get more out of her life with such associates as them, than she could with any of these people at Matching.


She felt quite sure of that;--though Jeffrey Palliser did take great trouble to teach her the game, and once or twice made her laugh heartily by quizzing the Duchess's attitude as she stood up to make her stroke.

However, Jeffrey Palliser took great trouble to teach her, and once or twice made her laugh by quizzing the Duchess's attitude as she stood up to make her stroke.


"I wish I could play billiards," said Mrs. Sparkes, on one of these occasions; "I do indeed."

"I wish I could play billiards," said Mrs. Sparkes.


"I thought you said you were coming to play," said the Duchess, almost majestically, and with a tone of triumph evidently produced by her own successes.

"I thought you said you were coming to play," said the Duchess, with a tone of triumph at her own successes.


"Only to see your Grace," said Mrs. Sparkes.


"I don't know that there is anything more to see in me than in anybody else," said the Duchess.

"I don't know that there is anything to see," said the Duchess.


[Illustration: "Mr. Palliser, that was a cannon."]


"Oh no, Duchess, you hit the same ball twice."


"Very well;--then I suppose Miss Vavasor plays now.

"Very well; then I suppose Miss Vavasor plays now.


This latter demand was made with great stress, as though she had been defrauded in the matter of the cannon, and was obeyed.


Before long, the Duchess, with her partner, Lady Glencora, won the game,--which fact, however, was, I think, owing rather to Alice's ignorance than to her Grace's skill.


The Duchess, however, was very triumphant, and made her way back into the drawing-room with a step which seemed to declare loudly that she had trumped Mrs. Sparkes at last.

and made her way back into the drawing-room with a step which seemed to declare that she had trumped Mrs. Sparkes at last.


Not long after this the ladies went up-stairs on their way to bed.

Not long after this the ladies went upstairs to bed.


Many of them, perhaps, did not go to their pillows at once, as it was as yet not eleven o'clock, and it was past ten when they all came down to breakfast.


At any rate, Alice, who had been up at seven, did not go to bed then, nor for the next two hours.


"I'll come into your room just for one minute," Lady Glencora said as she passed on from the door to her own room; and in about five minutes she was back with her cousin.

"I'll come into your room just for one minute," Lady Glencora said to


"Would you mind going into my room--it's just there, and sitting with Ellen for a minute?"


This Lady Glencora said in the sweetest possible tone to the girl who was waiting on Alice; and then, when they were alone together, she got into a little chair by the fireside and prepared herself for conversation.

Alice; and having dismissed the maid, she sat down by the fireside.


"I must keep you up for a quarter of an hour while I tell you something.

"I must keep you up for a quarter of an hour while I tell you something," she said.


"But first of all, how do you like the people?


Will you be able to be comfortable with them?"


Alice of course said that she thought she would; and then there came that little discussion in which the duties of Mr. Bott, the man with the red hair, were described.

Alice of course said that she thought she would; and then there came that little discussion about Mr. Bott, the man with the red hair.


"But I've got something to tell you," said Lady Glencora, when they had already been there some twenty minutes.

"But I've got something to tell you," said Lady Glencora.


"Sit down opposite to me, and look at the fire while I look at you."


"I won't have you call me Lady Glencora.


I have not come to you now asking you to do for me anything that you ought not to do."

I am not asking you to do anything that you ought not to do."


"But you are going to tell me something."


Alice felt sure that the thing to be told would have some reference to Mr. Fitzgerald, and she did not wish to hear Mr. Fitzgerald's name from her cousin's lips.

Alice felt sure that it would be about Mr. Fitzgerald.


I'm going to tell you that,--that in writing to you the other day I wrote a fib.

I'm going to tell you that in writing to you the other day I wrote a fib.


But it wasn't that I wished to deceive you;--only I couldn't say it all in a letter."

It wasn't that I wished to deceive you; only I couldn't say it all in a letter."


"You know I confessed that I had been very bad in not coming to you in London last year."

"I confessed that I had been very bad in not coming to you in London last year."


"You did not care whether I came or not: was that it?

"You did not care whether I came or not?


I told you in my letter that I didn't come because I had so many things on hand.


"Everybody makes excuses of that kind," said Alice.


"But they don't make them to the very people of all others whom they want to know and love.


But I feared I could not come without speaking of him;--and I had determined never to speak of him again."

But I feared I could not come without speaking of him; - and I had determined never to speak of him again."


This she said in that peculiar low voice which she assumed at times.


I had a sister once, older than I, and she used to call me Cora.

I had an older sister once, and she used to call me Cora.


I've been in the same room with him, and have spoken to him."


What's the good of any such resolution now?"


"Yes; he--Mr. Palliser--knew all about it.


When he talked of taking me to the house, I whispered to him that I thought Burgo would be there."


"Do not call him by his Christian name," said Alice, almost with a shudder.


He said it didn't signify, and that I had better learn to bear it.


If I am to meet him, and speak to him, and look at him, surely I may mention his name."

If I am to meet him, and speak to him, and look at him, surely I may mention his name?"


"Anything you please, that's not a falsehood.


But I've got you here because I don't think you will tell a falsehood.

But I don't think you will tell a falsehood.


Oh, Alice, I do so want to go right, and it is so hard!"


Hard, indeed, poor creature, for one so weighted as she had been, and sent out into the world with so small advantages of previous training or of present friendship!

Hard, indeed, poor creature, for one so weighted as she had been, and sent out into the world with so little in the way of training or friendship!


Alice began to feel now that she had been enticed to Matching Priory because her cousin wanted a friend, and of course she could not refuse to give the friendship that was asked from her.

Alice began to feel now that she had been enticed to Matching Priory because her cousin wanted a friend.


She got up from her chair, and kneeling down at the other's feet put up her face and kissed her.

She got up from her chair, and kneeling down at the other's feet she kissed her.


"I knew you would be good to me," said Lady Glencora.


But I could not bear that you should not know the real reason why I neither came to you nor sent for you after we went to London.

But I could not bear that you should not know the real reason why I did not visit you or send for you in London.


You'll come to me now; won't you, dear?"


"Yes;--and you'll come to me," said Alice, making in her mind a sort of bargain that she was not to be received into Mr. Palliser's house after the fashion in which Lady Midlothian had proposed to receive her.

"Yes; and you'll come to me," said Alice.


But it struck her at once that this was unworthy of her, and ungenerous.


"But I'll come to you," she added, "whether you come to me or not."


"I will go to you," said Lady Glencora, "of course,--why shouldn't I?


"We shall have dinners and parties and lots of people."


"And we shall have none," said Alice, smiling.


"And therefore there is so much more excuse for your coming to me;--or rather I mean so much more reason, for I don't want excuses.

"And therefore there is so much more reason for your coming to me.


I should hardly have known how to look at you then.


Then she smiled and returned the kiss which Alice had given her.

Then she smiled and returned Alice's kiss.


It was singular to see her standing on the bedroom rug with all her magnificence of dress, but with her hair pushed back behind her ears, and her eyes red with tears,--as though the burden of the magnificence remained to her after its purpose was over.

It was singular to see her standing on the bedroom rug in her magnificent dress, but with her hair pushed back behind her ears and her eyes red with tears, as though the burden of the magnificence remained to her after its purpose was over.


"I declare it's ever so much past twelve.


But I should have heard his step if he had.


He seldom gives over work till after one, and sometimes goes on till three.

He seldom finishes work till after one, and sometimes goes on till three.


It's the only thing he likes, I believe.


I've such a deal more to say to you; and Alice, you must tell me something about yourself, too; won't you, dear?"

I've such a lot more to say to you; and Alice, you must tell me something about yourself, too; won't you, dear?"


Then without waiting for an answer Lady Glencora went, leaving Alice in a maze of bewilderment.


She could hardly believe that all she had heard, and all she had done, had happened since she left Queen Anne Street that morning.

She could hardly believe all she had heard and done since she left Queen Anne Street that morning.


Mr. Grey's answer to Alice Vavasor's letter, which was duly sent by return of post and duly received on the morning after Lady Macleod's visit, may perhaps be taken as giving a sample of his worthiness.

Alice received Mr. Grey's answer to her letter the next morning.


It was dated from Nethercoats, a small country-house in Cambridgeshire which belonged to him, at which he already spent much of his time, and at which he intended to live altogether after his marriage.

It was written at Nethercoats, his small country-house in Cambridgeshire, where he spent much of his time, and intended to live after his marriage.


I am glad you have settled your affairs,--foreign affairs, I mean,--so much to your mind.

I am glad you have settled your foreign affairs so much to your liking.


As to your home affairs they are not, to my thinking, quite so satisfactorily arranged.

As for your home affairs, they are not, to my thinking, quite so satisfactorily arranged.


But as I am a party interested in the latter my opinion may perhaps have an undue bias.

But as I am involved in them, I may be biased.


Touching the tour, I quite agree with you that you and Kate would have been uncomfortable alone.

About the tour, I quite agree that you and Kate would have been uncomfortable alone.


It's a very fine theory, that of women being able to get along without men as well as with them; but, like other fine theories, it will be found very troublesome by those who first put it in practice.

It's a very fine theory that women can get along without men just as well; but, like other fine theories, it will be found very troublesome by those who first try it


Gloved hands, petticoats, feminine softness, and the general homage paid to beauty, all stand in the way of success.


These things may perhaps some day be got rid of, and possibly with advantage; but while young ladies are still encumbered with them a male companion will always be found to be a comfort.


I don't quite know whether your cousin George is the best possible knight you might have chosen.


I should consider myself to be infinitely preferable, had my going been upon the cards.

I should consider myself to be infinitely preferable, if it were possible.


Were you in danger of meeting Paynim foes, he, no doubt, would kill them off much quicker than I could do, and would be much more serviceable in liberating you from the dungeons of oppressors, or even from stray tigers in the Swiss forests.

If you should meet Paynim foes, he, no doubt, would kill them off much quicker than I could do, and would be much more useful in rescuing you from dungeons, or from any stray tigers in the Swiss forests.


But I doubt his being punctual with the luggage.

But I doubt if he will be punctual with the luggage.


He will want you or Kate to keep the accounts, if any are kept.


He will be slow in getting you glasses of water at the railway stations, and will always keep you waiting at breakfast.

He will be slow in getting you glasses of water at railway stations, and will always keep you waiting at breakfast.


I hold that a man with two ladies on a tour should be an absolute slave to them, or they will not fully enjoy themselves.

I believe that a man with two ladies on a tour should be an absolute slave to them.


He should simply be an upper servant, with the privilege of sitting at the same table with his mistresses.


I have my doubts as to whether your cousin is fit for the place; but, as to myself, it is just the thing that I was made for.

I have my doubts as to whether your cousin is fit for the position; but, as to myself, it is just the thing that I was made for.


Luckily, however, neither you nor Kate are without wills of your own, and perhaps you may be able to reduce Mr. Vavasor to obedience.


As to the home affairs I have very little to say here,--in this letter.

As to the home affairs, I have very little to say in this letter.


I shall of course run up and see you before you start, and shall probably stay a week in town.


I know I ought not to do so, as it will be a week of idleness, and yet not a week of happiness.


I'd sooner have an hour with you in the country than a whole day in London.


And I always feel in town that I've too much to do to allow of my doing anything.


If it were sheer idleness I could enjoy it, but it is a feverish idleness, in which one is driven here and there, expecting some gratification which not only never comes, but which never even begins to come.

And in town it is a feverish idleness, in which one is driven here and there, expecting some gratification which never comes.


I will, however, undergo a week of it,--say the last seven days of this month, and shall trust to you to recompense me by as much of yourself as your town doings will permit.

I will come for the last week of this month, and hope to see as much of you as your town doings will permit.


If I say nothing now I believe you will understand why I refrain.

: I believe you will understand why I saying nothing now.


You have cunningly just left me to imply, from what you say, that all my arguments have been of no avail; but you do not answer them, or even tell me that you have decided.

Perhaps all my arguments have been of no use; but as you do not answer them,


I shall therefore imply nothing, and still trust to my personal eloquence for success.

I shall still trust to my eloquence in person for success.


Or rather not trust,--not trust, but hope.


We are rather short of water, and therefore not quite as bright as I had hoped; but we are preparing with untiring industry for future brightness.


Your commands have been obeyed in all things, and Morrison always says "The mistress didn't mean this," or "The mistress did intend that."

Your commands have been obeyed in all things, and Morrison always says "The mistress didn't mean this," or "The mistress intended that."


God bless the mistress is what I now say, and send her home, to her own home, to her flowers, and her fruit, and her house, and her husband, as soon as may be, with no more of these delays which are to me so grievous, and which seem to me to be so unnecessary.

God bless the mistress is what I now say, and send her home, to her flowers, and her house, and her husband, as soon as may be, with no more of these delays which are to me so grievous, and which seem to me to be so unnecessary.


"I didn't give commands," Alice said to herself, as she sat with the letter at her solitary breakfast-table.


"He asked me how I liked the things, and of course I was obliged to say.


I was obliged to seem to care, even if I didn't care."


Such were her first thoughts as she put the letter back into its envelope, after reading it the second time.

Such were her first thoughts after reading the letter the second time.


When she opened it, which she did quickly, not pausing a moment lest she should suspect herself of fearing to see what might be its contents, her mind was full of that rebuke which her aunt had anticipated, and which she had almost taught herself to expect.

When she opened it, her mind was full of that rebuke which she had almost taught herself to expect.


She had torn the letter open rapidly, and had dashed at its contents with quick eyes.

She had torn the letter open rapidly, and scanned it with quick eyes.


In half a moment she had seen what was the nature of the reply respecting the proposed companion of her tour, and then she had completed her reading slowly enough.

In half a moment she had seen the nature of the reply about her companion for the tour, and then she had finished reading slowly.


"No; I gave no commands," she repeated to herself, as though she might thereby absolve herself from blame in reference to some possible future accusations, which might perhaps be brought against her under certain circumstances which she was contemplating.

"No; I gave no commands," she repeated, as though to absolve herself from blame in any possible future accusations.


Then she considered the letter bit by bit, taking it backwards, and sipping her tea every now and then amidst her thoughts.

Then she considered the letter bit by bit, taking it backwards.


He spoke of their engagement as though it were a betrothal, as betrothals used to be of yore; as though they were already in some sort married.

He spoke of their engagement as though they were already in some way married.


Such betrothals were not made now-a-days.


There still remained, both to him and to her, a certain liberty of extricating themselves from this engagement.

Yet they were both still free to withdraw from the engagement.


Should he come to her and say that he found that their contemplated marriage would not make him happy, would not she release him without a word of reproach?

If he came to her and said that he found that their marriage would not make him happy, would not she release him without a word of reproach?


Would not she regard him as much more honourable in doing so than in adhering to a marriage which was distasteful to him?

Would not she regard it as an honourable act?


And if she would so judge him,--judge him and certainly acquit him, was it not reasonable that she under similar circumstances should expect a similar acquittal?

And if things were the other way round, was it not reasonable that she should expect a similar acquittal?


Then she declared to herself that she carried on this argument within her own breast simply as an argument, induced to do so by that assertion on his part that he was already her husband,--that his house was even now her home.

Then she told herself that it was theoretical.


She had no intention of using that power which was still hers.


She had no wish to go back from her pledged word.


She loved him much, and admired him even more than she loved him.


He was noble, generous, clever, good,--so good as to be almost perfect; nay, for aught she knew he was perfect.

He was noble, generous, clever, good - almost perfect.


How could she, full of faults as she knew herself to be,--how could she hope to make happy a man perfect as he was!

How could she, full of faults as she knew herself to be, make such a perfect man happy?


But then there would be no doubt as to her present duty.

But there was no doubt as to her present duty.


Having told him that she loved him, and having on that score accepted his love, nothing but a change in her heart towards him could justify her in seeking to break the bond which bound them together.

She loved him, and having accepted his love, nothing but a change in her heart could justify her in seeking to break the engagement.


She did love him, and she loved him only.


In her thoughts she did not now deny it.


She had loved him, and was tormented by a feeling that she had had a more full delight in that love than in this other that had sprung up subsequently.

She had loved him, and was tormented by a feeling that she had had a more full delight in that love than in this.


She had told herself that this had come of her youth;--that love at twenty was sweeter than it could be afterwards.

She had told herself that this was a result of her youth; that love at twenty was sweeter and more rapturous than it could be afterwards.


There had been a something of rapture in that earlier dream which could never be repeated,--which could never live, indeed, except in a dream.


Now, now that she was older and perhaps wiser, love meant a partnership, in which each partner would be honest to the other, in which each would wish and strive for the other's welfare, so that thus their joint welfare might be insured.

Now that she was older and perhaps wiser, love meant a partnership, in which each partner would be honest to the other, in which each would strive for the other's welfare.


Then, in those early girlish days, it had meant a total abnegation of self.


The one was of earth, and therefore possible.

This love was of earth, and therefore possible.


The other had been a ray from heaven,--and impossible, except in a dream.

The other had been a ray from heaven - and impossible, except in a dream.


And she had been mistaken in her first love.


He whom she had worshipped had been an idol of clay, and she knew that it was well for her to have abandoned that idolatry.

She had worshipped an idol of clay, and had done the best thing in abandoning that idolatry.


He had not only been untrue to her, but, worse than that, had been false in excusing his untruth.

George had not only been untrue to her, but had made false excuses.


He had not only promised falsely, but had made such promises with a deliberate, premeditated falsehood.

He had made promises with a deliberate, premeditated falsehood.


And he had been selfish, coldly selfish, weighing the value of his own low lusts against that of her holy love.

And he had been coldly selfish, weighing the value of his own low lusts against that of her love.


She had known this, and had parted from him with an oath to herself that no promised contrition on his part should ever bring them again together.

She had known this, and had parted vowing to herself that no contrition on his part should ever bring them together again.


But she had pardoned him as a man, though never as a lover, and had bade him welcome again as a cousin and as her friend's brother.

But though she did not pardon him as a lover, she had again welcomed him as a cousin, and as her friend Kate's brother.


She had again become very anxious as to his career, not hiding her regard, but professing that anxiety aloud.

She had become very anxious about his career.


She knew him to be clever, ambitious, bold,--and she believed even yet, in spite of her own experience, that he might not be bad at heart.

She knew him to be clever, ambitious, bold - and perhaps not bad at heart.


Now, as she told herself that in truth she loved the man to whom her troth was plighted, I fear that she almost thought more of that other man from whom she had torn herself asunder.

Now, as she told herself that she loved John Grey, I fear that she almost thought more of that other man from whom she had torn herself apart.


"Why should he find himself unhappy in London?"

"Why should Mr. Grey find himself unhappy in London?"


she said, as she went back to the letter.


"Why should he pretend to condemn the very place which most men find the fittest for all their energies?

"Why condemn the place which most men find the fittest for their energies?


Were I a man, no earthly consideration should induce me to live elsewhere.


However brilliant might be his own light, he would be contented to hide it under a bushel!"

However brilliant his own light might be, he would be contented to hide it under a bushel!"


And at last she recurred to that matter as to which she had been so anxious when she first opened her lover's letter.


It will be remembered how assured she had expressed herself that Mr. Grey would not condescend to object to her travelling with her cousin.

reflected on his response to her travelling with her cousin.


He had written on the matter with a pleasant joke, like a gentleman as he was, disdaining to allude to the past passages in the life of her whom he loved, abstaining even from expressing anything that might be taken as a permission on his part.

He had written on the matter with a pleasant joke, like a gentleman, without alluding to the past or implying that she needed his permission.


There had been in Alice's words, as she told him of their proposed plan, a something that had betrayed a tremor in her thoughts.


She had studiously striven so to frame her phrases that her tale might be told as any other simple statement,--as though there had been no trembling in her mind as she wrote.

she had tried to make it a simple, ordinary statement


But she had failed, and she knew that she had failed.


She had failed; and he had read all her effort and all her failure.


She was quite conscious of this; she felt it thoroughly; and she knew that he was noble and a gentleman to the last drop of his blood.

She was quite conscious of this; and she knew that he was a gentleman to the last drop of his blood.


And yet--yet--yet there was almost a feeling of disappointment in that he had not written such a letter as Lady Macleod had anticipated.

And yet - yet there was almost a feeling of disappointment that he had not written a disapproving letter such as Lady Macleod had anticipated.


During the next week Lady Macleod still came almost daily to Queen Anne Street, but nothing further was said between her and Miss Vavasor as to the Swiss tour; nor were any questions asked about Mr. Grey's opinion on the subject.

During the next week Lady Macleod still came almost daily to see Alice, but nothing was said about the Swiss tour; nor did she ask about Mr. Grey's opinion.


The old lady of course discovered that there was no quarrel, or, as she believed, any probability of a quarrel; and with that she was obliged to be contented.

When the old lady discovered that there was no quarrel, she had to be contented.


Nor did she again on this occasion attempt to take Alice to Lady Midlothian's.

Nor did she again attempt to take Alice to Lady Midlothian's.


Indeed, their usual subjects of conversation were almost abandoned, and Lady Macleod's visits, though they were as constant as heretofore, were not so long.

Indeed, their usual subjects of conversation were almost abandoned.


She did not dare to talk about Mr. Grey, and because she did not so dare, was determined to regard herself as in a degree ill-used.

Lady Macleod did not dare to talk about Mr. Grey, and


So she was silent, reserved, and fretful.


At length came the last day of her London season, and her last visit to her niece.


"I would come because it's my last day," said Lady Macleod; "but really I'm so hurried, and have so many things to do, that I hardly know how to manage it."

"I came because it's my last day," said Lady Macleod; "even though I have so many things to do."


"It's very kind," said Alice, giving her aunt an affectionate squeeze of the hand.


"I'm keeping the cab, so I can just stay twenty-five minutes.


I've marked the time accurately, but I know the man will swear it's over the half-hour."


"You'll have no more trouble about cabs, aunt, when you are back in Cheltenham."


I pay the bill every month, but they've always one down that I didn't have.


It's the regular practice, for I've had them from all the men in the place."


"It's hard enough to find honest men anywhere, I suppose."


What do you think of Mrs. Green wanting to charge me for an extra week, because she says I didn't give her notice till Tuesday morning?


I won't pay her, and she may stop my things if she dares.


I shall never come up to London again, my dear."


What should an old woman like me do, trailing up to town every year, merely because it's what people choose to call the season."

Why should an old woman like me come trailing up to town every year?"


Age doesn't matter when a person's health is so good as yours."

Age doesn't matter when a person's health is as good as yours."


"If you knew what I suffer from lumbago,--though I must say coming to London always does cure that for the time.

"If you knew what I suffer from lumbago.


Well, I suppose one has no right to complain when one gets to be as old as I am; but I declare I believe that those I love best would sooner be without me than with me."

Well, I suppose one has no right to complain; but I believe that those I love best would rather be without me than with me."


Of course my life would have been very different if you could have consented to remain with me till you were married.


You shouldn't mind what an old woman like me says."


"You're a little melancholy because you're going away."


I don't know why I stayed the last week.


I did say to Lady Midlothian that I thought I should go on the 20th; and, though I know that she knew that I really didn't go, she has not once sent to me since.

Though I told Lady Midlothian that I should be leaving, she has not once


To be sure they've been out every night; but I thought she might have asked me to come and lunch.


It's so very lonely dining by myself in lodgings in London."

It's so very lonely dining by myself in lodgings."


"And yet you never will come and dine with me."


I've made up my mind that I'll never come up to town again,--except for one thing."

I've made up my mind that I'll never come up to town again - except for one thing."


Alice, as she asked the question, well knew what that one thing was.


I do hope you will not keep me long waiting."

I do hope you will not keep me waiting long."


I always think that when a girl is once engaged the sooner she's married the better.

When a girl is once engaged, the sooner she's married the better.


There may be reasons for delay on the gentleman's part."


"But, Alice, you don't mean to say that Mr. Grey is putting it off?"

You don't mean to say that Mr. Grey is putting it off?"


Alice was silent for a moment, during which Lady Macleod's face assumed a look of almost tragic horror.

Alice was silent for a moment, while Lady Macleod's face assumed a look of almost tragic horror.


Was there something wrong on Mr. Grey's side of which she was altogether unaware?


Alice, though for a second or two she had been guilty of a slight playful deceit, was too honest to allow the impression to remain.

Alice was too honest to allow the impression to remain.


"No, aunt," she said; "Mr. Grey is not putting it off.


It has been left to me to fix the time."


After all it is not more than four months yet since I--I accepted him.

After all, it is not more than four months yet since I - I accepted him."


I don't know that there has been any delay."


"But you might fix the time now, if he wishes it."


"Well, perhaps I shall,--some day, aunt.

"Well, perhaps I shall - some time, aunt.


I'm going to think about it, and you mustn't drive me."

I'm going to think about it, and you mustn't push me."


"But you should have some one to advise you, Alice."

"But you should have someone to advise you, Alice."


People always do seem to think it so terrible that a girl should have her own way in anything.


She mustn't like any one at first; and then, when she does like some one, she must marry him directly she's bidden.

She mustn't like any one at first; and then, when she does like someone, she must marry him as soon as she's told.


I haven't much of my own way at present; but you see, when I'm married I shan't have it at all.

I haven't much of my own way at present; but when I'm married I shan't have it at all.


You can't wonder that I shouldn't be in a hurry."


"I am not advocating anything like hurry, my dear.

"I am not advocating any hurry, my dear.


I've been here twenty-eight minutes, and that horrid man will impose upon me.


And Lady Macleod hurried out of the room more intent at the present moment upon saving her sixpence than she was on any other matter whatsoever.


And then John Grey came up to town, arriving a day or two after the time that he had fixed.


It is not, perhaps, improbable that Alice had used some diplomatic skill in preventing a meeting between Lady Macleod and her lover.

Alice may have used some diplomatic skill in preventing a meeting between Lady Macleod and her lover,


They both were very anxious to obtain the same object, and Alice was to some extent opposed to their views.


Had Lady Macleod and John Grey put their forces together she might have found herself unable to resist their joint endeavours.

had put their forces together she might have found herself unable to resist their joint endeavours.


She was resolved that she would not at any rate name any day for her marriage before her return from Switzerland; and she may therefore have thought it wise to keep Mr. Grey in the country till after Lady Macleod had gone, even though she thereby cut down the time of his sojourn in London to four days.

She was resolved not to name any day for her marriage before her return from Switzerland.
During this visit of Mr. Grey's to London,


On the occasion of that visit Mr. Vavasor did a very memorable thing.


He dined at home with the view of welcoming his future son-in-law.

He dined at home to welcome his future son-in-law


He dined at home, and asked, or rather assented to Alice's asking, George and Kate Vavasor to join the dinner-party.

; and asked, or rather agreed to Alice's asking, George and Kate Vavasor to join the dinner-party.


"What an auspicious omen for the future nuptials!"

"What an auspicious omen for your marriage!"


said Kate, with her little sarcastic smile.


"Uncle John dines at home, and Mr. Grey joins in the dissipation of a dinner-party.


We shall all be changed soon, I suppose, and George and I will take to keeping a little cottage in the country."


"Kate," said Alice, angrily, "I think you are about the most unjust person I ever met."


I would forgive your raillery, however painful it might be, if it were only fair."


"And to whom is it unfair on the present occasion;--to your father?"

"And to whom am I being unjust; to your father?"


"I care nothing as to myself; you know that very well."


"Then it must have been unfair to Mr. Grey."


"Yes; it was Mr. Grey whom you meant to attack.

"It was Mr. Grey whom you meant to attack.


If I can forgive him for not caring for society, surely you might do so."


"Exactly; but that's just what you can't do, my dear.


If you did you might be quite sure that I should say nothing.


And if you choose to bid me hold my tongue I will say nothing.


But when you tell me all your own thoughts about this thing you can hardly expect but that I should let you know mine in return.

But when you tell me all your own thoughts about it you can hardly expect me to keep quiet.


I'm not particular; and if you are ready for a little good, wholesome, useful hypocrisy, I won't balk you.

Still, if you are ready for a little useful hypocrisy, I won't prevent you.


I mayn't be quite so dishonest as you call me, but I'm not so wedded to truth but what I can look, and act, and speak a few falsehoods if you wish it.

I mayn't be quite so dishonest as you call me, but I can speak a few falsehoods if you wish it.


"You know I wish for no falsehood, Kate."


"I know it's very hard to understand what you do wish.

"It's very hard to understand what you do wish.


I know that for the last year or two I have been trying to find out your wishes, and, upon my word, my success has been very indifferent.

For the last year or two I have been trying to find out your wishes, without success.


I suppose you wish to marry Mr. Grey, but I'm by no means certain.


I suppose the last thing on earth you'd wish would be to marry George?"


sometimes you drive me too hard; you do, indeed.


You make me doubt whether I hate or love you most.


Knowing what my feelings are about George, I cannot understand how you can bring yourself to speak of him to me with such contempt!"

Knowing what my feelings are about George, I cannot understand how you can bring yourself to speak of him with such contempt!"


Kate Vavasor, as she spoke these words, left the room with a quick step, and hurried up to her own chamber.

Kate Vavasor left the room quickly, and hurried up to her own chamber.


There Alice found her in tears, and was driven by her friend's real grief into the expression of an apology, which she knew was not properly due from her.

There Alice found her in tears, and was driven by her friend's real grief into making an apology which she felt she did not owe.


Kate was acquainted with all the circumstances of that old affair between her brother and Alice.

Kate knew all the circumstances of that old affair between her brother and Alice.


She had given in her adhesion to the propriety of what Alice had done.

She had agreed with the propriety of what Alice had done.


She had allowed that her brother George's behaviour had been such as to make any engagement between them impossible.

She had admitted that her brother George's behaviour had made any engagement impossible.


The fault, therefore, had been hers in making any reference to the question of such a marriage.

The fault had been hers, in referring to the possibility of such a marriage.


Nor had it been by any means her first fault of the same kind.


Till Alice had become engaged to Mr. Grey she had spoken of George only as her brother, or as her friend's cousin, but now she was constantly making allusion to those past occurrences, which all of them should have striven to forget.

Since Alice had become engaged to Mr. Grey, Kate had been constantly mentioning those past events, which all of them should have tried to forget.


Under these circumstances was not Lady Macleod right in saying that George Vavasor should not have been accepted as a companion for the Swiss tour?


[Illustration: "Sometimes you drive me too hard."]


The little dinner-party went off very quietly; and if no other ground existed for charging Mr. Grey with London dissipation than what that afforded, he was accused most unjustly.

The little dinner-party went off very quietly.


The two young men had never before met each other; and Vavasor had gone to his uncle's house, prepared not only to dislike but to despise his successor in Alice's favour.

The two young men had never before met each other; and George Vavasor had gone to his uncle's house, prepared not only to dislike but to despise his successor.


But in this he was either disappointed or gratified, as the case may be.


"He has plenty to say for himself," he said to Kate on his way home.


"And he doesn't talk like a prig either, which was what I expected.

"And he doesn't talk like a prig either, like I expected.


"I thought men never saw that in each other.


"I see it in every animal--in men, women, horses, dogs, and even pigs.


I think people always do who are ugly themselves."


"And so you're going into raptures in favour of John Grey."

"So you're going into raptures in favour of John Grey."


I very seldom go into raptures about anything.


But he talks in the way I like a man to talk."


How he bowled my uncle over about those actors; and yet if my uncle knows anything about anything it is about the stage twenty years ago."


There was nothing more said then about John Grey; but Kate understood her brother well enough to be aware that this praise meant very little.


George Vavasor spoke sometimes from his heart, and did so more frequently to his sister than to any one else; but his words came generally from his head.

George Vavasor spoke sometimes from his heart, but generally from his head.


On the day after the little dinner in Queen Anne Street, John Grey came to say good-bye to his betrothed;--for his betrothed she certainly was, in spite of those very poor arguments which she had used in trying to convince herself that she was still free if she wished to claim her freedom.

On the day after the little dinner, John Grey came to say good-bye to Alice.


Though he had been constantly with Alice during the last three days, he had not hitherto said anything as to the day of their marriage.

Though he had been constantly with her during the last three days, he had not said anything about the day of their marriage.


He had been constantly with her alone, sitting for hours in that ugly green drawing-room, but he had never touched the subject.


He had told her much of Switzerland, which she had never yet seen but which he knew well.

He had told her much of Switzerland, which he knew well


He had told her much of his garden and house, whither she had once gone with her father, whilst paying a visit nominally to the colleges at Cambridge.


And he had talked of various matters, matters bearing in no immediate way upon his own or her affairs; for Mr. Grey was a man who knew well how to make words pleasant; but previous to this last moment he had said nothing on that subject on which he was so intent.

and other matters, for Mr. Grey was a man who knew how to make words pleasant; but he had said nothing on that subject on which he was so intent.


"Well, Alice," he said, when the last hour had come, "and about that question of home affairs?"

"Well, Alice," he said, when the last hour had come, "and about that question of home affairs.


"Let us finish off the foreign affairs first."


Is there any reason why you'd rather not have this thing settled."

Is there any reason why you'd rather not have this thing settled?"


"I cannot think that you repent your goodness to me."


"No; I don't repent it;--what you call my goodness?


And now he passed his arm round her waist as they stood near the empty fireplace.


"Then why should you not wish to come to me?"


"But, Alice, you must have wished it altogether when you consented to be my wife."


"A person may wish for a thing altogether, and yet not wish for it instantly."

But a person may wish for a thing, and yet not wish for it instantly."


Will you say the middle of September, and we shall still be in time for warm pleasant days among the lakes?


Grant it, and I will swear that you have granted me everything."


She was silent, having things to say but not knowing in what words to put them.

She was silent, not knowing what words to use.


Now that he was with her she could not say the things which she had told herself that she would utter to him.

Now that he was with her she could not say the things which she had told herself that she would say to him.


She could not bring herself to hint to him that his views of life were so unlike her own, that there could be no chance of happiness between them, unless each could strive to lean somewhat towards the other.

She could not bring herself to hint that his views of life were so unlike her own that there could be no chance of happiness between them, unless each could strive to lean towards the other.


No man could be more gracious in word and manner than John Grey; no man more chivalrous in his carriage towards a woman; but he always spoke and acted as though there could be no question that his manner of life was to be adopted, without a word or thought of doubting, by his wife.

No man could be more gracious or chivalrous than John Grey; but he always spoke as though there could be no question that his manner of life was to be adopted, without a thought of doubting, by his wife.


When two came together, why should not each yield something, and each claim something?

Why should not each yield something, and each claim something?


This she had meant to say to him on this day; but now that he was with her she could not say it.

This she had meant to say to him; but now that he was with her she could not say it.


"John," she said at last, "do not press me about this till I return."


"But then you will say the time is short.


"I cannot answer you now;--indeed, I cannot.


That is I cannot answer in the affirmative.


He did not press her further then, but kissed her and bade her farewell.


When Mrs. Greenow was left alone in her lodgings, after the little entertainment which she had given to her two lovers, she sat herself down to think seriously over her affairs.

When Mrs. Greenow was left alone in her lodgings, after the little dinner with her two lovers, she sat down to think.


She might take Mr. Cheesacre, or she might take Captain Bellfield--or she might decide that she would have nothing more to say to either of them in the way of courting.

She might take Mr. Cheesacre, or she might take Captain Bellfield - or she might take neither.


They were very persistent, no doubt; but she thought that she would know how to make them understand her, if she should really make up her mind that she would have neither one nor the other.


She was going to leave Norwich after Easter, and they knew that such was her purpose.

She was going to leave Norwich after Easter, and they knew it.


Something had been said of her returning to Yarmouth in the summer.

Something had been said about her returning to Yarmouth in the summer.


She was a just woman at heart, and justice required that each of them should know what was to be his prospect if she did so return.

She was a just woman at heart, and felt that each man should know his prospect if she did return.


There was a good deal to be said on Mr. Cheesacre's behalf.


Mahogany-furnitured bedrooms assist one's comfort in this life; and heaps of manure, though they are not brilliant in romance, are very efficacious in farming.

Mahogany-furnitured bedrooms are very comfortable; and heaps of manure, though not romantic, are useful in farming.


Mrs. Greenow by no means despised these things; and as for the owner of them, though she saw that there was much amiss in his character, she thought that his little foibles were of such a nature that she, as his wife, or any other woman of spirit, might be able to repress them, if not to cure them.

Mrs. Greenow by no means despised these things; and as for their owner, though she saw much amiss in his character, she thought that his little foibles were of such a nature that a wife of spirit might be able to repress them, if not to cure them.


But she had already married for money once, as she told herself very plainly on this occasion, and she thought that she might now venture on a little love.

But she had already married for money once, as she told herself, and she thought that she might now venture on a little love.


Her marriage for money had been altogether successful.

Her marriage for money had been successful.


The nursing of old Greenow had not been very disagreeable to her, nor had it taken longer than she had anticipated.

The nursing of old Greenow had not been disagreeable, nor had it taken longer than she had anticipated.


She had now got all the reward that she had ever promised herself, and she really did feel grateful to his memory.

She had now got her due reward, and she really did feel grateful to his memory.


I almost think that among those plentiful tears some few drops belonged to sincerity.

Some of her tears were dropped with sincerity.


She was essentially a happy-tempered woman, blessed with a good digestion, who looked back upon her past life with contentment, and forward to her future life with confidence.

She was essentially a happy-natured woman, who looked back upon her past life with contentment, and forward to her future life with confidence.


She would not be greedy, she said to herself.


She did not want more money, and therefore she would have none of Mr. Cheesacre.


So far she resolved,--resolving also that, if possible, the mahogany-furnitured bedrooms should be kept in the family, and made over to her niece, Kate Vavasor.

However, she also resolved that, if possible, the mahogany-furnitured bedrooms should be kept in the family, and made over to her niece, Kate Vavasor.


But should she marry for love; and if so, should Captain Bellfield be the man?


Strange to say, his poverty and his scampishness and his lies almost recommended him to her.

Strange to say, his poverty and scampishness and lies almost recommended him to her.


At any rate, it was not of those things that she was afraid.


She had a woman's true belief in her own power, and thought that she could cure them,--as far as they needed cure.

them; she thought that she could cure them - if they needed curing.


As for his stories about Inkerman, and his little debts, she cared nothing about that.


She also had her Inkermans, and was quite aware that she made as good use of them as the Captain did of his.


And as for the debts,--what was a man to do who hadn't got any money?


She also had owed for her gloves and corsets in the ante-Greenow days of her adventures.

too had owed money for her gloves and corsets in the ante-Greenow days.


But there was this danger,--that there might be more behind of which she had never heard.

But she was aware of the danger that there might be more behind, of which she had never heard.


Another Mrs. Bellfield was not impossible; and what, if instead of being a real captain at all, he should be a returned ticket-of-leave man!

Another Mrs. Bellfield was not impossible; and what if he should not be a real captain at all!


Her chief security was in this,--that Cheesacre had known the man for many years, and would certainly have told anything against him that he did know.

Her chief security was in this: that Cheesacre had known the man for many years, and would certainly have told anything against him that he knew.


Under all these circumstances, she could not quite make up her mind either for or against Captain Bellfield.


Between nine and ten in the evening, an hour or so after Mr. Cheesacre had left her, Jeannette brought to her some arrowroot with a little sherry in it.

Between nine and ten in the evening, Jeannette brought to her some arrowroot with sherry,


She usually dined early, and it was her habit to take a light repast before she retired for the night.

which it was her habit to take before retiring for the night.


"Jeannette," she said, as she stirred the lumps of white sugar in the bowl, "I'm afraid those two gentlemen have quarrelled."

"Jeannette," she said, as she stirred the bowl, "I'm afraid those two gentlemen have quarrelled."


Jeannette, on these occasions, was in the habit of standing beside the chair of her mistress, and chatting with her; and then, if the chatting was much prolonged, she would gradually sink down upon the corner of a chair herself,--and then the two women would be very comfortable together over the fire, Jeannette never forgetting that she was the servant, and Mrs. Greenow never forgetting that she was the mistress.

Jeannette, on these occasions, usually stood by her mistress's chair, chatting with her; and if the chatting was much prolonged, she would gradually sink down upon the corner of a chair herself - and then the two women would be very comfortable together over the fire, Jeannette never forgetting that she was the servant, and Mrs. Greenow never forgetting that she was the mistress.


"And why should they quarrel, Jeannette?


"I don't know about being foolish, ma'am; but it's the most natural thing in life.

"I don't know about being foolish, ma'am; but it's natural.


If I had two beaux as was a-courting me together, in course I should expect as they would punch each other's heads.

If I had two beaux as was a-courting me together, I should expect as they would punch each other's heads."


There's some girls do it a purpose, because they like to see it.


"Well, ma'am--yes; I am young, no doubt.


But I won't say but what I've had a beau, young as I look."


"But you don't suppose that I want beaux, as you call them?"


"I don't know, ma'am, as you wants 'em exactly.


There they are; and if they was to blow each other's brains out in the gig to-night, I shouldn't be a bit surprised for one.

But they are; and if they was to blow each other's brains out in the gig tonight, I shouldn't be a bit surprised."


There's nothing won't quiet them at Oileymead to-night, if brandy-and-water don't do it."


As she said this, Jeannette slipt into her chair, and held up her hands in token of the intensity of her fears.

As she said this, Jeannette slipped into her chair.


"Why, you silly child, they're not going home together at all.

"Why, you silly child, they're not going home together.


"The Captain did go away first, certainly; but I thought perhaps it was to get his pistols and fighting things ready."

"He did, but I thought perhaps it was to get his pistols ready."


That makes it much easier for ladies, no doubt.


Perhaps them peaceable ways will come down to such as us in time.


It'd be a comfort, I know, to them as are quiet given, like me.


I hate to see men knocking each other's heads about,--I do.


So Mr. Cheesacre and the Captain won't fight, ma'am?"


"Of course they won't, you little fool, you."


"Dear, dear; I was so sure we should have had the papers all full of it,--and perhaps one of them stretched upon his bloody bier!

"Dear, dear; I was so sure we should have had the papers full of it, and perhaps one of them stretched upon his bloody bier!


I always made up my mind that the Captain wouldn't be wounded in any of his wital parts--unless it was his heart, you know, ma'am."

I always made up my mind that the Captain wouldn't be wounded."


"But why should they quarrel at all, Jeannette?


There's some things as you can cry halves about, but there's no crying halves about this."


"Jeannette, I wonder how you can say such things; as if I, in my position, had ever said a word to encourage either of them.

I have never said a word to encourage either of them.


You know it's not true, Jeannette, and you shouldn't say so."


Whereupon Mrs. Greenow put her handkerchief to her eyes, and Jeannette, probably in token of contrition, put her apron to hers.

Mrs. Greenow put her handkerchief to her eyes.


"To be sure, ma'am, no lady could have behaved better through it than you have done, and goodness knows you have been tried hard."

"To be sure, ma'am, no lady could have behaved better than you have done.


"And if gentlemen will make fools of themselves, it isn't your fault; is it, ma'am?"

If gentlemen will make fools of themselves, it isn't your fault; is it, ma'am?"


"But I'm so sorry that they should have quarrelled.


They were such dear friends, you know;--quite all in all to each other."


"When you've settled which it's to be, ma'am, that'll all come right again,--seeing that gentlefolks like them have given up fighting, as you say."

"When you've settled which it's to be, ma'am, that'll all come right again."


"I suppose, ma'am, it won't be Mr. Cheesacre?"


To be sure, he's a man as is uncommonly well to do in the world."


I shall ever regard Mr. Cheesacre as a dear friend who has been very good to me at a time of trouble; but he'll never be more than that."

"I shall always regard Mr. Cheesacre as a dear friend; but he'll never be more than that."


I'm sure, for my part, I've always thought the Captain was the nicer gentleman of the two,--and have always said so."

I'm sure, for my part, I've always thought the Captain was the nicer gentleman."


"And as for money,--what's the good of having more than enough?

"And as for money - what's the good of having more than enough?


If he can bring love, you can bring money; can't you, ma'am?"


"He's nothing to me, girl," repeated Mrs. Greenow.


said Jeannette, plainly asking a question.


What's the world come to, I wonder, when you sit yourself down there, and cross-examine your mistress in that way!

What's the world come to, when you cross-examine your mistress in that way!


"I hope I haven't said anything amiss, ma'am;" and Jeannette rose from her seat.


"It's my fault for encouraging you," said Mrs. Greenow.


"Go down-stairs and finish your work, do; and then take yourself off to bed.


Next week we shall have to be packing up, and there'll be all my things to see to before that."

Next week we shall be packing up, and there'll be all my things to see to."


So Jeannette got up and departed, and after some few further thoughts about Captain Bellfield, Mrs. Greenow herself went to her bedroom.

So Jeannette departed, and after some further thought about Captain Bellfield, Mrs. Greenow went to her bed.


Mr. Cheesacre, when he drove back to Oileymead alone from Norwich, after dining with Mrs. Greenow, had kept himself hot, and almost comfortable, with passion against Bellfield; and his heat, if not his comfort, had been sustained by his seeing the Captain, with his portmanteau, escaping just as he reached his own homestead.

Mr. Cheesacre, when he drove back to Oileymead alone, had kept himself hot with passion against Bellfield; and his heat had been sustained by his seeing the Captain, with his portmanteau, escaping just as he reached his home.


But early on the following morning his mind reverted to Mrs. Greenow, and he remembered, with anything but satisfaction, some of the hard things which she had said to him.

But early on the following morning he thought of Mrs. Greenow, and he remembered some of the hard things which she had said to him.


He had made mistakes in his manner of wooing.


He was quite aware of that now, and was determined that they should be rectified for the future.

He was quite aware of that now, and was determined to put them right.


She had rebuked him for having said nothing about his love.

She had rebuked him for saying nothing about his love.


And she had bidden him not to be so communicative about his wealth.

And she had bidden him not to talk so much about his wealth.


Henceforth he would be dumb on that subject.


Nevertheless, he could not but think that the knowledge of his circumstances which the lady already possessed, must be of service to him.


"She can't really like a poor beggarly wretch who hasn't got a shilling," he said to himself.

said to himself, "She can't really like a poor beggarly wretch who hasn't got a shilling."


He was very far from feeling that the battle was already lost.

He was very far from feeling that the battle was lost.


Her last word to him had been an assurance of her friendship; and then why should she have been at so much trouble to tell him the way in which he ought to address her if she were herself indifferent as to his addresses?

Her last word to him had been an assurance of her friendship.


He was, no doubt, becoming tired of his courtship, and heartily wished that the work were over; but he was not minded to give it up.

He was, no doubt, becoming tired of courtship, and heartily wished that the work were over; but he was not minded to give it up.


He therefore prepared himself for another attack, and took himself into Norwich without seeking counsel from any one.

So he prepared himself for another attack, and took himself back to Norwich.


He could not trust himself to think that she could really wish to refuse him after all the encouragement she had given him.


On this occasion he put on no pink shirt or shiny boots, being deterred from doing so by a remembrance of Captain Bellfield's ridicule; but, nevertheless, he dressed himself with considerable care.

On this occasion he dressed himself with considerable care,


He clothed his nether person in knickerbockers, with tight, leathern, bright-coloured gaiters round his legs, being conscious of certain manly graces and symmetrical proportions which might, as he thought, stand him in good stead.

in knickerbockers, with tight, bright, leather gaiters round his legs, thinking his manly proportions might stand him in good stead.


And he put on a new shooting-coat, the buttons on which were elaborate, and a wonderful waistcoat worked over with foxes' heads.

And he put on a new shooting-coat, and a wonderful waistcoat embroidered with foxes' heads.


He completed his toilet with a round, low-crowned hat, with dog's-skin gloves, and a cutting whip.

He completed his outfit with a round hat, dog-skin gloves, and a whip.


Thus armed he went forth resolved to conquer or to die,--as far as death might result from any wound which Mrs. Greenow might be able to give him.

Thus armed he went forth resolved to conquer or to die.


He waited, on this occasion, for the coming of no market-day; indeed, the journey into the city was altogether special, and he was desirous that she should know that such was the case.


He drove at a great pace into the inn-yard, threw his reins to the ostler, took just one glass of cherry-brandy at the bar, and then marched off across the market-place to the Close, with quiet and decisive steps.

He drove at a great pace into the inn-yard, threw his reins to the ostler, took one glass of cherry-brandy at the bar, and then marched off across the market-place to the Close with decisive steps,


said a friendly voice, in one of the narrow streets.


"Who expected to see you in Norwich on a Thursday!"


It was Grimsby, the son of old Grimsby of Hatherwich, a country gentleman, and one, therefore, to whom Cheesacre would generally pay much respect; but on this occasion he did not even pull up for an instant, or moderate his pace.


"A little bit of private business," he said, and marched onwards with his head towards the Close.


"I'm not going to be afraid of a woman--not if I know it," he said to himself; but, nevertheless, at a certain pastrycook's, of whose shop he had knowledge, he pulled up and had another glass of cherry-brandy.

pausing only at a pastrycook's where he had another glass of cherry-brandy.


"Mrs. Greenow is at home," he said to Jeannette, not deigning to ask any question.


"Oh, yes, sir; she is at home," said Jeannette, conscious that some occasion had arrived; and in another second he was in the presence of his angel.

and in another second was in the presence of his angel.


"Mr. Cheesacre, whoever expected to see you in Norwich on a Thursday?"


said the lady, as she welcomed him, using almost the same words as his friend had done in the street.


Why should not he come into Norwich on a Thursday, as well as any one else?


Did they suppose that he was tied for ever to his ploughs and carts?


He was minded to conduct himself with a little spirit on this occasion, and to improve the opinion which Mrs. Greenow had formed about him.


On this account he answered her somewhat boldly.


"There's no knowing when I may be in Norwich, Mrs. Greenow, or when I mayn't.

"There's no knowing when I may be in Norwich, Mrs. Greenow.


I'm one of those men of whom nobody knows anything certain, except that I pay as I go."


Then he remembered that he was not to make any more boasts about his money, and he endeavoured to cover the error.

Then he remembered that he was not to make any more boasts about his money.


"There's one other thing they may all know if they please, but we won't say what that is just at present."


"Well,--thank you,--I will sit down for a few minutes if you'll let me, Mrs. Greenow.

"Well, thank you, I will sit down for a few minutes.


Mrs. Greenow, I'm in such a state of mind that I must put an end to it, or else I shall be going mad, and doing somebody a damage."

Mrs. Greenow, I'm in such a state of mind that I must put an end to it, or else I shall go mad, and do somebody a damage."


You're going out shooting, presently; are you not?"

You're going out shooting soon, are you not?"


and Mrs. Greenow looked down at his garments.


"No, Mrs. Greenow, I'm not going out shooting.

"No, Mrs. Greenow, I'm not going shooting.


I put on these things because I thought I might take a shot as I came along.


But I couldn't bring myself to do it, and then I wouldn't take them off again.


"Not in the least, so long as he is decent."


"I'm sure I'm always that, Mrs. Greenow."


I consider you to be rather gay in your attire."


"I don't pretend to anything of that kind, Mrs. Greenow.


I like to be nice, and all that kind of thing.


There are people who think that because a man farms his own land, he must be always in the muck.


It is the case, of course, with those who have to make their rent and living out of it."


Then he remembered that he was again treading on forbidden ground, and stopped himself.


"But it don't matter what a man wears if his heart isn't easy within him."

But it don't matter what a man wears if his heart isn't easy."


"I don't know why you should speak in that way, Mr. Cheesacre; but it's what I have felt every hour since--since Greenow left me."

"I don't know why you should speak in that way, Mr. Cheesacre; but it's what I have felt every hour since - since Greenow left me."


Mr. Cheesacre was rather at a loss to know how he should begin.


This allusion to the departed one did not at all assist him.

This allusion to the departed one did not help Mr. Cheesacre.


He had so often told the widow that care killed a cat, and that a live dog was better than a dead lion; and had found so little efficacy in the proverbs, that he did not care to revert to them.


He was aware that some more decided method of proceeding was now required.

He felt that some decided method of proceeding was required.


Little hints at love-making had been all very well in the earlier days of their acquaintance; but there must be something more than little hints before he could hope to bring the matter to a favourable conclusion.

Little hints at love-making had been all very well earlier on; but now there must be more than little hints.


The widow herself had told him that he ought to talk about love; and he had taken two glasses of cherry-brandy, hoping that they might enable him to do so.


He had put on a coat with brilliant buttons, and new knickerbockers, in order that he might be master of the occasion.


He was resolved to call a spade a spade, and to speak boldly of his passion; but how was he to begin?

He was resolved to speak boldly; but how was he to begin?


He was now seated in a chair, and there he remained silent for a minute or two, while she smoothed her eyebrows with her handkerchief after her last slight ebullition of grief.


"Mrs. Greenow," he exclaimed at last, jumping up before her; "dearest Mrs. Greenow; darling Mrs. Greenow, will you be my wife?

Then he jumped up before her.
"Mrs. Greenow," he exclaimed, "dearest Mrs. Greenow; will you be my wife?


Everything that I've got shall be yours.


Of course I speak specially of my hand and heart.


As for love;--oh, Arabella, if you only knew me!

As for love; oh, Arabella, if you only knew me!


I don't think there's a man in Norfolk better able to love a woman than I am.


Ever since I first saw you at Yarmouth, I've been in love to that extent that I've not known what I've been about.

Ever since I first saw you at Yarmouth, I've been in love to that extent that I've not known what I'm about.


If you'll ask them at home, they'll tell you that I've not been able to look after anything about the place,--not as it should be done.


I don't suppose I've opened the wages book half a dozen times since last July."


"And has that been my fault, Mr. Cheesacre?"

"Has that been my fault, Mr. Cheesacre?"


I can't move about anywhere without thinking about you.

I can't move anywhere without thinking about you.


My mind's made up; I won't stay at Oileymead unless you will come and be its mistress."


I'll let the place, and go and travel somewheres.


What's the use of my hanging on there without the woman of my heart?


I couldn't do it, Mrs. Greenow; I couldn't, indeed.


Of course I've got everything there that money can buy,--but it's all of no use to a man that's in love.

Of course I've got everything there that money can buy - but it's all of no use to a man that's in love.


Do you know, I've come quite to despise money and stock, and all that sort of thing.

Do you know, I've come quite to despise money and all that sort of thing.


I haven't had my banker's book home these last three months.


"But how can I help you, Mr. Cheesacre?"


"Just say one word, and the thing'll be done.


As for your fortune, I don't care that for it!


I'm not like somebody else; it's yourself I want.


You shall be my pet, and my poppet, and my dearest little duck all the days of your life."


At these words he rose from his chair, and coming immediately before her, went down on both knees so close to her as to prevent the possibility of her escaping from him.

He rose from his chair, and went down on both knees so close to her that she could not escape.


There could be no doubt as to the efficacy of the cherry-brandy.

There could be no doubt about the efficacy of the cherry-brandy.


There he was, well down on his knees; but he had not got down so low without some little cracking and straining on the part of the gaiters with which his legs were encompassed.

There was some little cracking and straining of his gaiters as he knelt.


He, in his passion, had probably omitted to notice this; but Mrs. Greenow, who was more cool in her present temperament, was painfully aware that he might not be able to rise with ease.

He did not notice this; but Mrs. Greenow was painfully aware that he might not be able to rise with ease.


"Mr. Cheesacre, don't make a fool of yourself.


"Never, till you have told me that you will be mine!"


"Then you'll remain there for ever, which will be inconvenient.


I won't have you take hold of my hand, Mr. Cheesacre.


Whereupon his grasp upon her hand was released; but he made no attempt to rise.

He released her hand, but made no attempt to rise.


"I never saw a man look so much like a fool in my life," said she.


"If you don't get up, I'll push you over.


But Cheesacre, whose senses were less acute than the lady's, did not hear.


"I'll never get up," said he, "till you have bid me hope."


There;--he'll be in the room now before--"

There; he'll be in the room now before-"


[Illustration: Mr. Cheesacre disturbed.]


Cheesacre now did hear a sound of steps, and the door was opened while he made his first futile attempt to get back to a standing position.

Cheesacre now did hear footsteps, and the door opened while he made his first futile attempt to get back to a standing position.


The door was opened, and Captain Bellfield entered.


"I beg ten thousand pardons," said he, "but as I did not see Jeannette, I ventured to come in.


May I venture to congratulate my friend Cheesacre on his success?"

May I congratulate my friend Cheesacre on his success?"


In the meantime Cheesacre had risen; but he had done so slowly, and with evident difficulty.

In the meantime Cheesacre had risen, with difficulty.


"I'll trouble you to leave the room, Captain Bellfield," said he.


"I'm particularly engaged with Mrs. Greenow, as any gentleman might have seen."


"There wasn't the slightest difficulty in seeing it, old fellow," said the Captain.


"I'll trouble you to leave the room, sir," said Cheesacre, walking up to him.


"Certainly, if Mrs. Greenow will desire me to do so," said the Captain.

"Certainly, if Mrs. Greenow wishes me to do so," said the Captain.


Then Mrs. Greenow felt herself called upon to speak.


"Gentlemen, I must beg that you will not make my drawing-room a place for quarrelling.


Captain Bellfield, lest there should be any misconception, I must beg you to understand that the position in which you found Mr. Cheesacre was one altogether of his own seeking.

"Captain Bellfield, I must beg you to understand that the position in which you found Mr. Cheesacre was one altogether of his own seeking.


It was not with my consent that he was there."


"I can easily believe that, Mrs. Greenow," said the Captain.


Captain Bellfield, I think I had better ask you to withdraw."


"As it is absolutely necessary that I should give Mr. Cheesacre a definite answer after what has occurred--"

"As it is absolutely necessary that I should give Mr. Cheesacre a definite answer-"


"Of course," said Captain Bellfield, preparing to go.


"I'll take another opportunity of paying my respects to you.


"Perhaps I might be allowed to come this evening?"


To this Mrs. Greenow half assented with an uncertain nod, and then the Captain went.

To this Mrs. Greenow half assented with a nod, and the Captain went.


As soon as the door was closed behind his back, Mr. Cheesacre again prepared to throw himself into his former position, but to this Mrs. Greenow decidedly objected.

As soon as the door was closed, Mr. Cheesacre again prepared to throw himself into his former position, but Mrs. Greenow


If he were allowed to go down again, there was no knowing what force might be necessary to raise him.


"Mr. Cheesacre," she said, "let there be an end to this little farce between us."

promptly said, "Mr. Cheesacre, let there be an end to this little farce."


said he, standing with his hand on his heart, and his legs and knickerbockers well displayed.

said he, standing with his hand on his heart.


"It is certainly either a farce or a mistake.


If the latter,--and I have been at all to blame,--I ask your pardon most sincerely."

If I have been at all to blame, I ask your pardon most sincerely."


"But you'll be Mrs. Cheesacre; won't you?"


One husband is enough for any woman, and mine lies buried at Birmingham."


said he, in utter disgust at this further reference to Mr. Greenow.


The expression, at such a moment, militated against courtesy; but even Mrs. Greenow herself felt that the poor man had been subjected to provocation.

It was not courteous; but even Mrs. Greenow herself felt that the poor man had been provoked.


"Let us part friends," said she, offering him her hand.


But he turned his back upon her, for there was something in his eye that he wanted to hide.


I believe that he really did love her, and that at this moment he would have taken her, even though he had learned that her fortune was gone.


"Will you not give me your hand," said she, "in token that there is no anger between us?"

"Will you not give me your hand," said she, "to show that there is no anger between us?"


"If there's anything you like to have changed, I'll change it at once.


I'll give up Oileymead altogether, if you don't like being so near the farm-yard.


Mrs. Greenow, if you only knew how I've set my heart upon it!"


And now, though his back was turned, the whimpering of his voice told plainly that tears were in his eyes.


No woman would feel disposed to marry a man simply because he cried, and perhaps few women would be less likely to give way to such tenderness than Mrs. Greenow.

No woman would feel disposed to marry a man simply because he cried, and Mrs. Greenow


She understood men and women too well, and had seen too much both of the world's rough side and of its smooth side to fall into such a blunder as that; but she was touched.

had seen too much of the world to fall into such a blunder as that; but she was touched.


"My friend," she said, putting her hand upon his arm, "think no more of it."


"But I can't help thinking of it," said he, almost blubbering in his earnestness.

"But I can't help thinking of it," said he, almost blubbering.


"No, no, no," said she, still touching him with her hand.


"Why, Mr. Cheesacre, how can you bring yourself to care for an old woman like me, when so many pretty young ladies would give their eyes to get a kind word from you?"

"Why, Mr. Cheesacre, how can you care for an old woman like me, when so many pretty young ladies would give their eyes to get a kind word from you?"


"There's Charlie Fairstairs, who would make as good a wife as any girl I know."


The very idea of having such a bride palmed off upon him did something to restore him to his manly courage.


"Or my niece, Kate Vavasor, who has a nice little fortune of her own, and who is as accomplished as she is good-looking."


"That's because you never asked her to be anything.


If I get her to come back to Yarmouth next summer, will you think about it?


You want a wife, and you couldn't do better if you searched all England over.

You want a wife, and you couldn't do better if you searched all England.


It would be so pleasant for us to be such near friends; wouldn't it?"

It would be so pleasant for us to be near friends; wouldn't it?"


And again she put her hand upon his arm.


"Mrs. Greenow, just at present there's only one woman in the world that I can think of."

"Mrs. Greenow, at present there's only one woman in the world that I can think of."


I'm a broken-hearted man,--I am, indeed.

I'm a broken-hearted man - I am, indeed.


I didn't ever think I should feel so much about a thing of the kind--I didn't, really.


I hardly know what to do with myself; but I suppose I'd better go back to Oileymead."


He had become so painfully unconscious of his new coat and his knickerbockers that it was impossible not to pity him.


"I shall always hate the place now," he said,--"always."

I shall always hate the place now," he said.


You'd be as happy as a king there, if you'd take Kate for your queen."


Why, I'll come and stay with you half my time, and nurse the children, as an old grand-aunt should."


Then he hesitated, and she asked him of what he was thinking.


"You don't mean to take that man Bellfield, do you?"


"Come, Mr. Cheesacre, that's rank jealousy.


What right can you have to ask me whether I shall take any man or no man?

What right can you have to ask me whether I shall take any man?


The chances are that I shall remain as I am till I'm carried to my grave; but I'm not going to give any pledge about it to you or to any one."

The chances are that I shall remain as I am till I'm carried to my grave; but I'm not going to give any promise about it to you or to anyone."


"You don't know that man, Mrs. Greenow; you don't, indeed.


Does not it stand to reason, when he has got nothing in the world, that he must be a beggar?


It's all very well saying that when a man is courting a lady, he shouldn't say much about his money; but you won't make me believe that any man will make a good husband who hasn't got a shilling.


"Why, then, has he been such a friend of yours?"


I took up with him just because he looked pleasant, I suppose."


"And you want to prevent me from doing the same thing."

"And you want to prevent me from doing the same."


"If you were to marry him, Mrs. Greenow, it's my belief I should do him a mischief; it is, really.

"If you were to marry him, Mrs. Greenow, it's my belief I should do him a mischief; I don't think I could stand it.


I don't think I could stand it;--a mean, skulking beggar!


"Certainly, if that's the way you choose to talk about my friends."


I suppose if I was to talk for ever it wouldn't be any good?"


"Come and talk to Kate Vavasor for ever, Mr. Cheesacre."


To this he made no reply, but went forth from the house, and got his gig, and drove himself home to Oileymead, thinking of his disappointment with all the bitterness of a young lover.

To this he made no reply, but left, and drove home to Oileymead, thinking of his disappointment with all the bitterness of a young lover.


"I didn't ever think I should ever care so much about anything," he said, as he took himself up to bed that night.

"I didn't think I should ever care so much about anything," he said, as he took himself to bed that night.


That evening Captain Bellfield did call in the Close, as he had said he would do, but he was not admitted.

That evening Captain Bellfield did call in the Close, as he had said he would, but he was not admitted.


"Her mistress was very bad with a headache," Jeannette said.

"Her mistress had a headache," said Jeannette.


Alice came down to breakfast on that Christmas morning at Vavasor Hall without making any sign as to the letter she had received.

Alice came down to breakfast on Christmas morning at Vavasor Hall to


The party there consisted of her grandfather, her father, her cousin Kate, and herself.

greet her grandfather, her father, and her cousin Kate.


They all made their Christmas salutations as is usual, and Alice received and made hers as did the others, without showing that anything had occurred to disturb her tranquillity.


Kate remarked that she had heard that morning from Aunt Greenow, and promised to show Alice the letter after breakfast.

Kate remarked that she had received a letter from Aunt Greenow, and promised to show it to Alice after breakfast.


But Alice said no word of her own letter.


"Why didn't your aunt come here to eat her Christmas dinner?"

"Why didn't your aunt come here for Christmas dinner?"


"Perhaps, sir, because you didn't ask her," said Kate, standing close to her grandfather,--for the old man was somewhat deaf.

"Perhaps, sir, because you didn't ask her," said Kate, standing close to the old man, who was somewhat deaf.


"And why didn't you ask her;--that is, if she stands upon asking to come to her old home?"


"Nay, sir, but I couldn't do that without your bidding.

"I couldn't do that without your bidding, sir.


We Vavasors are not always fond of meeting each other."


I know what you mean, and you should be the last to speak of it.


Alice, my dear, come and sit next to me.


I am much obliged to you for coming down all this way to see your old grandfather at Christmas.

I am much obliged to you for coming all this way to see your old grandfather at Christmas.


I only wish you had brought better news about your sweetheart."


"She'll think better of it before long, sir," said her father.


You would not wish me to marry against my own judgement."


"I don't know much about ladies' judgements," said the old man.


"It does seem to me that when a lady makes a promise she ought to keep it."


"According to that," said Kate, "if I were engaged to a man, and found that he was a murderer, I still ought to marry him."


"But Mr. Grey is not a murderer," said the Squire.


"Pray,--pray, don't talk about it," said Alice.

"Please don't talk about it," said Alice.


"If you do I really cannot sit and hear it."


"I have given over saying anything on the subject," said John Vavasor, speaking as though he had already expended upon it a vast amount of paternal eloquence.

"I will say nothing more on the subject," said John Vavasor.


He had, however, never said more than has been recorded in these pages.


Alice during this conversation, sat with her cousin's letter in her pocket, and as yet had not even begun to think what should be the nature of her reply.

Alice meanwhile sat with her cousin's letter in her pocket, and had not even begun to think how she should reply.


The Squire of Vavasor Hall was a stout old man, with a red face and grey eyes, which looked fiercely at you, and with long grey hair, and a rough grey beard, which gave him something of the appearance of an old lion.

The Squire of Vavasor Hall was a stout old man, with a red face and fierce grey eyes; his long grey hair and beard gave him the appearance of an old lion.


He was passionate, unreasoning, and specially impatient of all opposition; but he was affectionate, prone to forgive when asked to do so, unselfish, and hospitable.

He was excitable, unreasoning, and impatient of all opposition; but he was also affectionate, ready to forgive, unselfish, and hospitable.


He was, moreover, guided strictly by rules, which he believed to be rules of right.

He was guided strictly by what he believed to be rules of right.


His grandson George had offended him very deeply,--had offended him and never asked his pardon.

His grandson George had offended him very deeply, and had never asked his pardon.


He was determined that such pardon should never be given, unless it were asked for with almost bended knees; but, nevertheless, this grandson should be his heir.

He was determined that such pardon should never be given, unless it were asked for with bended knees; but, nevertheless, this grandson should be his heir.


The right of primogeniture could not, in accordance with his theory, be abrogated by the fact that it was, in George Vavasor's case, protected by no law.


The Squire could leave Vavasor Hall to whom he pleased, but he could not have hoped to rest quietly in his grave should it be found that he had left it to any one but the eldest son of his own eldest son.

The Squire could not have rested quietly in his grave if he had left his estate to anyone but the eldest son of his eldest son.


Though violent, and even stern, he was more prone to love than to anger; and though none of those around him dared to speak to him of his grandson, yet he longed in his heart for some opportunity of being reconciled to him.

Though violent, he was more prone to love than anger; and he longed in his heart for some opportunity of being reconciled to George.


The whole party went to church on this Christmas morning.

The whole party went to church on Christmas morning.


The small parish church of Vavasor, an unpretending wooden structure, with a single bell which might be heard tinkling for a mile or two over the fells, stood all alone about half a mile from the Squire's gate.

The small parish church of Vavasor, an unpretending wooden building, stood all alone half a mile from the Squire's gate.


Vavasor was a parish situated on the intermediate ground between the mountains of the lake country and the plains.

Vavasor was a parish between the mountains of the lake district and the plains.


Its land was unproductive, ill-drained, and poor, and yet it possessed little or none of the beauty which tourists go to see.

Its land was unproductive, ill-drained, and poor, with little of the beauty which tourists go to see.


It was all amidst the fells, and very dreary.


There were long skirtings of dark pines around a portion of the Squire's property, and at the back of the house there was a thick wood of firs running up to the top of what was there called the Beacon Hill.

There were dark pines around part of it, and at the back of the house there was a thick wood of firs running up to the top of a hill.


Through this there was a wild steep walk which came out upon the moorland, and from thence there was a track across the mountain to Hawes Water and Naddale, and on over many miles to the further beauties of Bowness and Windermere.

Through this there was a wild steep walk which came out upon the moorland, and from there a track led across the mountain to Hawes Water, and on over many miles to the beauties of Windermere.


They who knew the country, and whose legs were of use to them, could find some of the grandest scenery in England within reach of a walk from Vavasor Hall; but to others the place was very desolate.


For myself, I can find I know not what of charm in wandering over open, unadorned moorland.


It must be more in the softness of the grass to the feet, and the freshness of the air to the lungs, than in anything that meets the eye.


You might walk for miles and miles to the north-east, or east, or south-east of Vavasor without meeting any object to arrest the view.

But it was a long walk; and you might walk for miles and miles in other directions without


The great road from Lancaster to Carlisle crossed the outskirts of the small parish about a mile from the church, and beyond that the fell seemed to be interminable.


Towards the north it rose, and towards the south it fell, and it rose and fell very gradually.


Here and there some slight appearance of a valley might be traced which had been formed by the action of the waters; but such breakings of ground were inconsiderable, and did not suffice to interrupt the stern sameness of the everlasting moorland.

seeing anything but the stern, everlasting moorland.


The daily life at Vavasor was melancholy enough for such a one as the Squire's son, who regarded London as the only place on the earth's surface in which a man could live with comfort.

The daily life at Vavasor was melancholy for John Vavasor, who regarded London as the only place where a man could live with comfort.


Nor did he much appreciate the homely comforts of the Hall; for the house, though warm, was old-fashioned and small, and the Squire's cook was nearly as old as the Squire himself.

; nor did the homely comforts of the old-fashioned Hall.


John Vavasor's visits to Vavasor were always visits of duty rather than of pleasure.


She could be very happy there with Kate; for, like herself, Kate was a good walker and loved the mountains.

could be very happy there with Kate; for both were good walkers and loved the mountains.


Their regard for each other had grown and become strong because they had gone together o'er river and moor, and because they had together disregarded those impediments of mud and wet which frighten so many girls away from the beauties of nature.

Their regard for each other had grown as they had walked together over river and moor, disregarding the mud and wet which frighten so many girls away from the beauties of nature.


On this Christmas Day they all went to church, the Squire being accompanied by Alice in a vehicle which in Ireland is called an inside jaunting-car, and which is perhaps the most uncomfortable kind of vehicle yet invented; while John Vavasor walked with his niece.

On this Christmas Day Alice accompanied the Squire to church in a vehicle which in Ireland is called a jaunting-car, and which is perhaps the most uncomfortable vehicle yet invented. John Vavasor walked with Kate.


But the girls had arranged that immediately after church they would start for a walk up the Beacon Hill, across the fells, towards Hawes Water.

But the girls had arranged that immediately after church they would start for a walk across the fells towards Hawes Water.


They always dined at the Hall at the vexatious hour of five; but as their church service, with the sacrament included, would be completed soon after twelve, and as lunch was a meal which the Squire did not himself attend, they could have full four hours for their excursion.

They would have four hours for their excursion before dinner at five.


This had all been planned before Alice received her letter; but there was nothing in that to make her change her mind about the walk.

This had all been planned before Alice received her letter.


"Alice, my dear," said the old man to her when they were together in the jaunting-car, "you ought to get married."

"Alice, my dear," said the old man to her in the jaunting-car after church, "you ought to get married."


The Squire was hard of hearing, and under any circumstances an inside jaunting-car is a bad place for conversation, as your teeth are nearly shaken out of your head by every movement which the horse makes.

The Squire was hard of hearing, and a jaunting-car is a bad place for conversation, as your teeth are nearly shaken out of your head by every movement of the horse.


Alice therefore said nothing, but smiled faintly, in reply to her grandfather.


On returning from church he insisted that Alice should again accompany him, telling her specially that he desired to speak to her.


"My dear child," he said, "I have been thinking a great deal about you, and you ought to get married."


"Not if you quarrel with all your suitors," said the old man.


"You quarrelled with your cousin George, and now you have quarrelled with Mr. Grey.


"You'll never get married, my dear, if you go on in that way."


"Why should I be married more than Kate?"


"I don't know that anybody wants to marry Kate.


If you don't get married before long, perhaps you'll never get married at all.

If you don't get married before long, perhaps you never will at all."


Gentlemen won't stand that kind of thing for ever."


The two girls took a slice of cake each in her hand, and started on their walk.

On returning home the two girls each took a slice of cake, and started on their walk.


"We shan't be able to get to the lake," said Kate.


"No," said Alice; "but we can go as far as the big stone on Swindale Fell, where we can sit down and see it."


"Do you remember the last time we sat there?"


"It is nearly three years ago, and it was then that you told me that all was to be over between you and George.

"It was nearly three years ago, and it was then that you told me that all was over between you and George.


Do you remember what a fool I was, and how I screamed in my sorrow?


I sometimes wonder at myself and my own folly.


How is it that I can never get up any interest about my own belongings?


And then we got soaking wet through coming home."

And then we got soaking wet coming home."


That was in September, but we had dined early.


If we go as far as Swindale we shall have it very dark coming home to-day;--but I don't mind that through the Beacon Wood, because I know my way so well.

If we go as far as Swindale we shall have it very dark coming home today; but I don't mind, because I know my way so well.


You won't be afraid of half an hour's dark?"


"Well; it's all for the best, I suppose.


And now I must read you my aunt's letter."


Then, while they were still in the wood, Kate took out the letter from her aunt and read it, while they still walked slowly up the hill.

Kate took out the letter and read it while they walked slowly up the hill.


It seemed that hitherto neither of her two suitors had brought the widow to terms.

It seemed that neither of her two suitors had succeeded with the widow.


Indeed, she continued to write of Mr. Cheesacre as though that gentleman were inconsolable for the loss of Kate, and gave her niece much serious advice as to the expedience of returning to Norfolk, in order that she might secure so eligible a husband.

Indeed, she wrote of Mr. Cheesacre as though he were inconsolable for the loss of Kate, and advised her to return to Norfolk so that she might secure him.


"You must understand all the time, Alice," said Kate, pausing as she read the letter, "that the dear man has never given me the slightest ground for the faintest hope, and that I know to a certainty that he makes an offer to her twice a week,--that is, on every market day.

"You must understand, Alice," said Kate, pausing, "that the dear man has never given me the slightest ground for hope, and that I know that he makes an offer to her twice a week - on every market day."


You can't enjoy half the joke if you won't bear that in mind."


Alice promised that she would bear it all in mind, and then Kate went on with her reading.


Poor Bellfield was working very hard at his drill, Mrs. Greenow went on to say; so hard that sometimes she really thought the fatigue would be too much for his strength.

Poor Bellfield was working very hard at his drill, Mrs. Greenow wrote; sometimes she really thought the fatigue would be too much for his strength.


He would come in sometimes of an evening and just take a cup of tea;--generally on Mondays and Thursdays.

He would sometimes come and just take a cup of tea - generally on Mondays and Thursdays.


"These are not market days at Norwich," said Kate; "and thus unpleasant meetings are avoided."

"These are not market days," said Kate; "and thus unpleasant meetings are avoided.


"He comes in," said Mrs. Greenow, "and takes a little tea; and sometimes I think that he will faint at my feet."


"That he kneels there on every occasion," said Kate, "and repeats his offer also twice a week, I have not the least doubt in the world."

I have not the slightest doubt that he also offers for her twice a week."


"Really I don't know what to think of it.


Sometimes I fancy that she likes the fun of the thing, but that she is too wide-awake to put herself in any man's power.


I have no doubt she lends him money, because he wants it sadly and she is very generous.

I have no doubt she lends him money, because she is very generous."


She gives him money, I feel sure, but takes his receipt on stamped paper for every shilling.


The letter then went on to say that the writer had made up her mind to remain at Norwich certainly through the winter and spring, and that she was anxiously desirous that her dear Kate should go back to her.

The letter went on to say that her aunt had decided to remain at Norwich through the winter and spring, and that she hoped dear Kate would go back to her.


"Come and have one other look at Oileymead," said the letter, "and then, if you make up your mind that you don't like it or him, I won't ask you to think of them ever again.

"Come and have another look at Oileymead," said the letter, "and then, if you don't like it or him, I won't ask you to think of them ever again.


I believe him to be a very honest fellow."


said Kate; "with all her faults I believe she would go through fire and water to serve me.


I think she'd lend me money without any stamped paper."


Then Aunt Greenow's letter was put up, and the two girls had come out upon the open fell.

Then Aunt Greenow's letter was put away, and the two girls had come to the open fell.


It was a delicious afternoon for a winter's walk.


The air was clear and cold, but not actually frosty.

The air was clear and cold, but not frosty.


The ground beneath their feet was dry, and the sky, though not bright, had that appearance of enduring weather which gives no foreboding of rain.

The ground was dry, and the sky gave no sign of rain.


There is a special winter's light, which is very clear though devoid of all brilliancy,--through which every object strikes upon the eye with well-marked lines, and under which almost all forms of nature seem graceful to the sight if not actually beautiful.

There is a special winter's light which is very clear,


But there is a certain melancholy which ever accompanies it.


It is the light of the afternoon, and gives token of the speedy coming of the early twilight.


It tells of the shortness of the day, and contains even in its clearness a promise of the gloom of night.

; it tells of the shortness of the day and the coming of the early twilight.


It is absolute light, but it seems to contain the darkness which is to follow it.


I do not know that it is ever to be seen and felt so plainly as on the wide moorland, where the eye stretches away over miles, and sees at the world's end the faint low lines of distant clouds settling themselves upon the horizon.

It is never seen so plainly as on the wide moorland, where the eye stretches away over miles to the faint low lines of distant clouds settling themselves upon the horizon.