mind him. For her part, she should always be glad to meet Mr Smith, and have a friendly chat, whether it come to anything or not. A nice, pleasant man like that, it was really too bad of papa to go and make them shy with him by saying such things. If he did think of Maria, he had never said anything; and if she were her, she would take no heed of papa's nonsense, but just be as friendly and easy with Mr Smith as she liked.

Maria was in high favour at this time. There were no more dissatisfied looks, and comparisons drawn between her and Clare, to the advantage of neither, but to the greater disadvantage of Maria. The sisters went to Freelands as often as they liked-far oftener, indeed, than they were wanted there; and the Tolletons escaped with wonderfully little animadversion.

It was Clare's doing, and she had to keep a brisk lookout on Maria all the time, lest in one unguarded moment she should spoil all. She had to keep Maria silent during her father's sallies, by admonitions of eyes, hands, or feet under the table; and all the fuel which kept the flame alive within her parent's bosom was supplied by her. Clare, for a fool, had her full share of fool's cunning.

Of course, the Tolletons knew what was going on, and a fine piece of fun it was to them.

They could make their own out of it, too. By encouraging the idea, insinuating gentle suspicions, and boldly fabricating rumours, they went far to make poor Maria believe

there was truth after all in it.

Then they delicately hinted the same to Mrs Hunt. Mrs Hunt must not believe it was their thought; such a thought had never crossed their minds, but they had heard something of the kind from other quarters. No, they must not name names. One of the Miss Hunts; that was what was said. They were not going to ask which, and they would promise Mrs Hunt not to circulate the report further, if she would just say—was it Maria?

She

Mrs Hunt almost liked the girls that afternoon. was not going to answer any such questions. For her part, she did not know what they could be thinking of. She had never noticed anything-at least, hardly anythingnothing of the least consequence; and she begged they wouldn't put such nonsense into her girls' heads. Well,

if it was either of them, it was Maria; but she was quite uncertain of anything—was really barely sensible of any attentions.

And then she felt almost affectionate to Helen Tolleton.

By that time Mr Smith had dined at the Hunts', and talked a good deal to Maria, as it was natural he should, when she had been placed beside him on purpose. The doctor's drawing-room had none of those little nooks and corners that were the charm at Freelands; any talking between a lady and gentleman had to be done boldly, under the eyes of all the company assembled.

Maria, however, had acquitted herself well, and her mother's heart beat with pleasure when, on the appearance of the gentlemen up-stairs, she saw Mr Smith draw near to the tea-table at which her eldest daughter presided. Maria herself had more mingled sensations. She felt her dignity, but she felt it a painful one. It flurried her nerves. By instinct she provided her guest with the best tea she could muster; but it was harsh and cold, very different from Helen's creamy cups. Maria never could make tea. It mattered not what she put in, it was always the same. She poured, and calculated, and poured back again, till all were of the same horrid mediocrity. No one was allowed to have a taste, and it was indeed a chance if she suited that of any. Having both tea and coffee to manipulate on the night in question, and the presence of her supposed lover in addition to flurry her, it is to be feared that she gave young Rawden, the doctor's assistant, a mixture; for he was observed to be making as wry faces over it as if it were a tonic.

Maria was looking very well for her. She had on a fresh white muslin, with blue ribbons. Her mother had superintended her toilet, and at the close, done what she had perhaps never in her life done before, pronounced her approval.

Mr Smith certainly conversed more with Maria than Clare, Clare taking good care that he should, and keeping out of the way for that purpose; and it was on the day following that Mrs Hunt called at Freelands, and owned in confidence that if it was either, it was Maria.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE WOMAN WHO OUGHT TO BECOME HIS WIFE.

WE must, however, go back a little, and see what others were doing while the Hunts were making such progress.

On the Friday for which Mr Smith had had no less than three invitations, it will be remembered that he and Captain Wellwood were to dine at Sauffrenden, and that on Mr Smith's requesting Captain Wellwood's company on the way thither, Philip had granted it with the utmost readiness.

Their entrance together might astonish Lady Sauffrenden, but it could not her husband. He knew all along what nonsense it was that Milly had been talking, and hoped she would now see that Phil was not such a goose as she had made him out to be.

There were several other neighbours in the drawingroom, some of whom had called on the new proprietor, and some who had not; but those who had not, immediately resolved on doing so, seeing him dining at Sauffrenden, and escorting Captain Wellwood. He made his first appearance with éclat.

Lord Sauffrenden was markedly attentive to the stranger. As Mr Smith chose to stand in the background, he stood in the background likewise, and during the ten minutes which elapsed before dinner was announced, held him in conversation. Then Mr Smith was requested to take Miss Fulton in to dinner.

Miss Fulton had come with her brother the Admiral. She and the Admiral numbered among their acquaintance everybody of note within thirty miles of Fulton Hall; and many who did not know Miss Fulton otherwise, knew her by name. She was to be seen at every party, every meeting, every benevolent and social gathering in the neighbourhood; and her other brother being rector of Fulton parish, she took upon herself many of the duties of a curate; sides performing to admiration the part of amateur clerk during the church services. What poor dear brother would have done without her she did not know. The Admiral

be

was all very well, but the Rector was her pet, her favourite, her poor dear brother.

She regarded him as something between a fool and a saint; and was proud of his piety as of an honourable and thoroughly unremunerative distinction, befitting an old family, and by no means common in it.

Miss Fulton was handsome, clever, aristocratic, accomplished, and benevolent, but-eccentric. She was universally liked, but universally laughed at. Her genius was underrated because it was genius, and not common talent. Her performances were unappreciated, because of their originality.

Nevertheless, she was a welcome visitor wherever she went, and nowhere more welcome than at Sauffrenden. Lady Sauffrenden knew a gentlewoman when she saw her, and Miss Fulton was undeniably a gentlewoman. Lord Sauffrenden said this was the rock his wife split upon, and that if a man knew how to stand and how to bow, Milly would forgive his committing murder. To this he had subjoined, that if a woman knew when to speak and when to be silent, Milly would forgive her telling a lie. But Milly had indignantly repelled both accusations.

It was she who had arranged that Mr Smith should take Miss Fulton in to dinner; and the moment Miss Fulton rose and attached herself to Mr Smith's arm, an instantaneous conviction thrilled through the whole assembly, that that was the woman who ought to become his wife.

The Fultons were poor; and perhaps, considering the age of their family, it was not wonderful that it should have grown a little mouldy. It is difficult to provide for such families. They cannot beg, to work they are ashamed. The Fulton living provided for one son respectably, until, as one of the brothers sneered, he should be fit for Canterbury; at which time he would hold himself in readiness to take orders-the wildest, wickedest George among them all, was this-and meantime he and the others got on as they could; being in and out of debt as constantly as a cork on the water bobs under the wave and comes up again.

Then there was a widowed sister, who always hankered after the Hall, and announced that when dear Cornelia married, she intended to come and take charge of the dear Admiral. Dear Cornelia, however, was a long time in

marrying, and her spinsterhood was a jest among many who had not had a tithe of her offers. She was, it is certain, thirty-nine years of age, when she rose to take Mr Smith's arm, and in another year would be forty.

But then what a difference there is between thirty-nine and forty!

Fulton Hall was not above eight miles from Eastworld, where Mr Smith had built his house on the hill; and for the sake of that house, those grounds, those carriages, ten thousand a-year, and a husband, it was thought that Miss Fulton might yield her maiden dignity, and sink the name of Fulton in that of Smith.

In another year she would be forty, and that ought to be, if it were not, an additional inducement. If only Miss Fulton were not so eccentric, she might be depended upon to see things in that sensible light. It was time she was married. Mr Smith looked a quiet sort of man, probably easy-going and comfortable. His being at Sauffrenden was a guarantee for his good behaviour; and if allied to the Fultons he would be received everywhere.

Accordingly, when Miss Fulton put her hand within his arm, and sailed out of the room, with her long, bunchy, black dress sailing gracefully after her, there was a general sensation, not so much of interest or approbation, as of calm certainty that such a marriage would surely come to pass.

For the fair Cornelia's peace of mind, it was as well that this was all unsuspected by her. She was a great talker, and throughout the many courses her tongue might be heard in its usual strain of brilliant volubility, while she fanned herself, and ate the best of the good things with an appreciating palate and a most happy insouciance. After dinner, at Lady Sauffrenden's request, she sat down to the piano. The request was made because Miss Fulton's music was in the Hall. When she dined out she always sang afterwards; but her singing, like the other things about her, was accounted little of, because it was eccentric. It was customary for strangers in the neighbourhood to be asked by its inhabitants if they had heard Miss Fulton sing; and on their replying in the negative, to make them understand it was rather a joke. As soon as she began, they looked at each other, and those who were quite at the far end of the room smiled.