his duty as a member of Parliament very well," said
Clara.

"That alone would not be much; but when that is joined to so much
that is better, it is a great deal. I am told that very few of the
men in the House now are believers at all."

"Oh, aunt!"

"It is terrible to think of, my dear."

"But, aunt; they have to take some oath, or something of that sort,
to show that they are Christians."

"Not now, my dear. They've done away with all that since we had Jew
members. An atheist can go into Parliament now; and I'm told that
most of them are that, or nearly as bad. I can remember when no
Papist could sit in Parliament. But they seem to me to be doing away
with everything. It's a great comfort to me that Frederic is what he
is."

"I'm sure it must be, aunt."

Then there was a pause, during which, however, Mrs. Winterfield gave
no sign that the conversation was to be considered as being over.
Clara knew her aunt's ways so well, that she was sure something more
was coming, and therefore waited patiently, without any thought of
taking up her book. "I was speaking to him about you yesterday," Mrs.
Winterfield said at last.

"That would not interest him very much."

"Why not? Do you suppose he is not interested in those I love?
Indeed, it did interest him; and he told me what I did not know
before, and what you ought to have told me."

Clara now blushed, she knew not why, and became agitated. "I don't
know that I have kept anything from you that I ought to have told,"
she said.

"He says that the provision made for you by your father has all been
squandered."

"If he used that word he has been very unkind," said Clara, angrily.

"I don't know what word he used, but he was not unkind at all; he
never is. I think he was very generous."

"I do not want his generosity, aunt."

"That is nonsense, my dear. If he has told me the truth, what have
you to depend on?"

"I don't want to depend on anything. I hate hearing about it."

"Clara, I wonder you can talk in that way. If you were only seventeen
it would be very foolish; but at your age it is inexcusable. When I
am gone, and your father is gone, who is to provide for you? Will
your cousin do it--Mr. Belton, who is to have the property?"

"Yes, he would--if I would let him;--of course I would not let him.
But, aunt, pray do not go on. I would sooner have to starve than talk
about it at all."

There was another pause; but Clara again knew that the conversati