William Murray Bradshaw was in pretty intimate relations with Miss
Cynthia Badlam. It was well understood between them that it might be of
very great advantage to both of them if he should in due time become the
accepted lover of Myrtle Hazard. So long as he could be reasonably
secure against interference, he did not wish to hurry her in making her
decision. Two things he did wish to be sure of, if possible, before
asking her the great question;--first, that she would answer it in the
affirmative; and secondly, that certain contingencies, the turning of
which was not as yet absolutely capable of being predicted, should happen
as he expected. Cynthia had the power of furthering his wishes in many
direct and indirect ways, and he felt sure of her cooperation. She had
some reason to fear his enmity if she displeased him, and he had taken
good care to make her understand that her interests would be greatly
promoted by the success of the plan which he had formed, and which was
confided to her alone.

He kept the most careful eye on every possible source of disturbance to
this quietly maturing plan. He had no objection to have Gifted Hopkins
about Myrtle as much as she would endure to have him. The youthful bard
entertained her very innocently with his bursts of poetry, but she was in
no danger from a young person so intimately associated with the
yard-stick, the blunt scissors, and the brown-paper parcel. There was
Cyprian too, about whom he did not feel any very particular solicitude.
Myrtle had evidently found out that she was handsome and stylish and all
that, and it was not very likely she would take up with such a bashful,
humble, country youth as this. He could expect nothing beyond a possible
rectorate in the remote distance, with one of those little pony chapels
to preach in, which, if it were set up on a stout pole, would pass for a
good-sized martin-house. Cyprian might do to practise on, but there was
no danger of her looking at him in a serious way. As for that youth,
Clement Lindsay, if he had not taken himself off as he did, Murray
Bradshaw confessed to himself that he should have felt uneasy. He was
too good-looking, and too clever a young fellow to have knocking about
among fragile susceptibilities. But on reflection he saw there could be
no danger.

"All up with him,--poor diavolo! Can't understand it--such a little
sixpenny miss--pretty enough boiled parsnip blonde, if one likes that
sort of