nly in orders but
in the possession of a living, Gregory Newton,--the Rev. Gregory
Newton,--who in the space of a few weeks' acquaintance had fallen
into a fury of love for Clarissa, and in the course of three months
had made her as many offers, and had been as often refused. This had
happened in the winter and spring previous to the opening of our
story,--and both Patience and Sir Thomas had been well disposed
towards the young man's suit. He had not been committed to Sir
Thomas's charge, as had Ralph, having been brought up under the care
of the uncle whose heir Ralph was through the obligation of legal
settlements. This uncle, having quarrelled with his own brother,
since dead, and with his heir, had nevertheless taken his other
nephew by the hand, and had bestowed upon the young clergyman the
living of Newton. Gregory Newton had been brought to the villa by his
brother, and had at once fallen on his knees before the beauty. But
the beauty would have none of him, and he had gone back to his living
in Hampshire a broken-hearted priest and swain. Now, Patience, though
she had never been directly so informed, feared that some partiality
for the unworthy Ralph had induced her sister to refuse offers from
the brother, who certainly was worthy. To the thinking of Patience
Underwood, no lot in life could be happier for a woman than to be
the wife of a zealous and praiseworthy parson of an English country
parish;--no lot in life, at least, could be happier for any woman who
intended to become a wife.

Such were the two girls at Popham Villa who were told on that evening
that a new sister was to be brought home to them. When the next
morning came they were of course still full of the subject. Sir
Thomas was to go into London after breakfast, and he intended to walk
over the bridge and catch an early train. He was as intent on being
punctual to time as though he were bound to be all day in Court: and,
fond as he might be of his daughters, had already enjoyed enough
of the comforts of home to satisfy his taste. He did love his
daughters;--but even with them he was not at his ease. The only
society he could enjoy was that of his books or of his own thoughts,
and the only human being whom he could endure to have long near him
with equanimity was Joseph Stemm. He had risen at nine, as was his
custom, and before ten he was bustling about with his hat and gloves.
"Papa," said Clarissa, "when shall you be home again?"

"I can't na