make a happy marriage.'

'Am I to understand that you disapprove of my niece?' cried the little
old lady, drawing herself up.

'By no means; by no means; how can you think me so wanting in courtesy?
But I must confess that I desire my son to make a good match.'

'You should rather wish him to get a good wife,' retorted Miss
Whichello, who was becoming annoyed. 'But if it is fortune you desire, I
can set your mind at rest on that point. Mab will inherit my money when
I die; and should she marry Captain Pendle during my lifetime, I shall
allow the young couple a thousand a year.'

'A thousand a year, Miss Whichello!'

'Yes! and more if necessary. Let me tell you, bishop, I am much better
off than people think.'

The bishop, rather nonplussed, looked down at his neat boots and very
becoming gaiters. 'I am not so worldly-minded as you infer, Miss
Whichello,' said he, mildly; 'and did George desire to marry a poor
girl, I have enough money of my own to humour his whim. But if his heart
is set on making Miss Arden his wife, I should like--if you will pardon
my candour--to know more about the young lady.'

'Mab is the best and most charming girl in the world,' said the little
Jennie Wren, pale, and a trifle nervous.

'I can see that for myself. You misunderstand me, Miss Whichello, so I
must speak more explicitly. Who is Miss Arden?'

'She is my niece,' replied Miss Whichello, with trembling dignity. 'The
only child of my poor sister, who died when Mab was an infant in arms.'

'Quite so!' assented the bishop, with a nod. 'I have always understood
such to be the case. But--er--Mr Arden?'

'Mr Arden!' faltered the old lady, turning her face from the company,
that its pallor and anxiety might not be seen.

'Her father! is he alive?'

'No!' cried Miss Whichello, shaking her head. 'He died long, long ago.'

'Who was he?'

'A--a--a gentleman!--a gentleman of independent fortune.'

Dr Pendle bit his nether lip and looked embarrassed. 'Miss Whichello,'
he said at length, in a hesitating tone, 'your niece is a charming young
lady, and, so far as she herself is concerned, is quite fit to become
the wife of my son George.'

'I should think so indeed!' cried the little lady, with buckram
civility.

'But,' continued the bishop, with emphasis, 'I have heard rumours about
her parentage which do not satisfy me. Whether these are true or not is
best known to yourself, Miss Whichello; but before consenting to the
engageme