conscience, to rest upon himself.

"The girl ought to be married," he would say to his wife, anxiously. "A
husband and a home of her own is what she wants. If she were happily
settled she would find occupation enough."

"I don't see whom she could marry, Eustace; men are so scarce, and there
are so many girls in the county."

"Well, she might have had Barry." Barry was a curate whom Vera had lately
scorned, and who had, in consequence of the crushed condition of his
affections, incontinently fled. "And then there is Gisburne. Why couldn't
she marry Gisburne? He is quite a catch, and a good young man too."

"Yes, it is a pity; perhaps she may change her mind, and he will ask her
again after Christmas; he told me as much."

"You must try and persuade her to think better of it by then, my dear.
Now I must be off to old Abraham, and be sure you send round the port to
Mary Williams; and you will find the list for the blanket club on my
study table, love."

Her husband started on his morning rounds, and Marion, coming down into
the drawing-room, found old Mrs. Daintree haranguing Vera on the same
all-important topic.

"I am only speaking for your good, Vera; what other object could I have?"
she was saying, as she dived into the huge basket of undarned socks on
the floor before her, and extracted thereout a ragged specimen to be
operated upon. "It is sheer obstinacy on your part that you will not