should owe their support to the charity of an aunt. But then, how
about herself? A month or two ago, before the Maguire feature in
her career had displayed itself so strongly, an overture from Mr
Rubb might probably not have been received with disfavour. But now,
while she was as it were half engaged to another man, she could not
entertain such a proposition. Her womanly feeling revolted from it.
No doubt she intended to refuse Mr Maguire. No doubt she had made up
her mind to that absolutely, during the ceremony of tearing up her
verses. And she had never had much love for Mr Maguire, and had felt
some--almost some, for Mr Rubb. In either case she was sure that, had
she married the man,--the one man or the other,--she would instantly
have become devoted to him. And I, who chronicle her deeds and
endeavour to chronicle her thoughts, feel equally sure that it would
have been so. There was something harsh in it, that Mr Maguire's
offer to her should, though never accepted, debar her from the
possibility of marrying Mr Rubb, and thus settling all the affairs of
her family in a way that would have been satisfactory to them and not
altogether unsatisfactory to her; but she was aware that it did so.
She felt that it was so, and then threw herself back for consolation
upon the security which would still be hers, and the want of security
which must attach itself to a marriage with Mr Rubb. He might make
ducks, and drakes, and oilcloth of it all; and then there would be
nothing left for her, for her sister-in-law, or for the children.

"May I tell him to speak to yourself?" her brother asked, while she
was thinking of all this.

"No, Tom; it would do no good."

"You do not fancy him, then."

"I do not know about fancying; but I think it will be better for me
to remain as I am. I would do anything for you and Sarah, almost
anything; but I cannot do that."

"Then I will say nothing further."

"Don't ask me to do that."

And he did not ask her again, but turned his face from her and
thought of the bitterness of his death-bed.

That evening, when she went down to tea, she met Samuel Rubb standing
at the drawing-room door.

"There is no one here," he said; "will you mind coming in? Has your
brother spoken to you?"

She had followed him into the room, and he had closed the door as he
asked the question.

"Yes, he has spoken to me."

She could see that the man was trembling with anxiety and eagerness,
and she almost l