uch near connections!
Why, we shall be related ourselves, Mrs. Martindale. How charmed I shall
be.'

Violet turned a bracelet on her arm, and could make no response.

'It is strange enough that we have never met Percival Fotheringham,'
said Miss Gardner. 'He is an eccentric being, I hear, but our dear
Theodora has a spice of eccentricity herself. I hope it will be for the
best.'

'He is an admirable person,' said Violet.

'I rejoice to hear it. I had some doubts. The dear girl is so generous,
of such peculiar decision, so likely to be dazzled by talent, and so
warmly attached to her eldest brother, that I almost feared it might not
have been well weighed. But you are satisfied?'

'O, yes, entirely so.'

'I am relieved to hear it. In confidence I may tell YOU, it is said in
our OWN family, that there is a rough overbearing temper about him. I
could not bear to think of dear Theodora's high spirit being subjected
to anything of that kind.'

'He is abrupt,' said Violet, eagerly; 'but I assure you the better he is
known, the more he is liked. My little boy is so fond of him.'

'I am glad. No doubt you have every means of judging, but I own I was
surprised at such ready consent. You were behind the scenes, no doubt,
and can tell how that determined spirit carried the day.'

'Lord Martindale gave his consent most readily and gladly,' said
Violet; but Jane was only the more convinced that Mrs. Martindale was as
ignorant as ever of family secrets.

'It was best to do so with a good grace; but I did think our dear
Theodora might have looked higher! Poor Lord St. Erme! He would
have been a more eligible choice. The family must have been much
disappointed, for she might have had him at her feet any day last
summer.'

'I do not think he would have suited her.'

'Well! perhaps not, but an easy gentle temper might. However, it cannot
be helped! Only the long engagement is unfortunate--very trying to both
parties. I have seen so few turn out well! Poor Pelham Fotheringham! It
is a pity he should stand between them and the baronetcy.'

'Is he Sir Antony's son?'

'Yes; it is a sad affair. A fine tall youth, quite imbecile. He is his
poor mother's darling, but no more fit to take care of himself than a
child of five years old. A most melancholy thing! Old Sir Antony ought
to set him aside, and let Percival enjoy the estate. Indeed, I should
think it very probable he would do so--it would be greatly for the
happiness of