ould
allow himself to shun from day to day his daily duty,--and to do
this so constantly as to make up out of various omissions, small in
themselves, a vast aggregate of misconduct,--still he was one who
would certainly do what his conscience prompted him to be right in
any great matter as to which the right and the wrong appeared to him
to be clearly defined. Though he loved his daughters dearly, he could
leave them from day to day almost without protection,--because each
day's fault in so doing was of itself but small. This new niece of
his he certainly did not love at all. He had never seen her. He was
almost morbidly fearful of new responsibilities. He expected nothing
but trouble in thus annexing a new unknown member to his family. And
yet he had decided upon doing it, because the duty to be done was
great enough to be clearly marked,--demanding an immediate resolve,
and capable of no postponement. But, as he thought of it, sitting
alone on the eve of the girl's coming, he was very uneasy. What was
he to do with her if he found her to be one difficult to manage,
self-willed, vexatious, or,--worse again,--ill-conditioned as to
conduct, and hurtful to his own children? Should it even become
imperative upon him to be rid of her, how should riddance be
effected? And then what would she think of him and his habits of
life?

And this brought him to other reflections. Might it not be possible
utterly to break up that establishment of his in Southampton
Buildings, so that he would be forced by the necessity of things to
live at his home,--at some home which he would share with the girls?
He knew himself well enough to be sure that while those chambers
remained in his possession, as long as that bedroom and bed were at
his command, he could not extricate himself from the dilemma. Day
after day the temptation was too great for him. And he hated the
villa. There was nothing there that he could do. He had no books at
the villa; and,--so he averred,--there was something in the air of
Fulham which prevented him from reading books when he brought them
there. No! He must break altogether fresh ground, and set up a new
establishment. One thing was clear; he could not now do this before
Mary Bonner's arrival, and therefore there was nothing to create any
special urgency. He had hoped that his girls would marry, so that
he might be left to live alone in his chambers,--waited upon by old
Stemm,--without sin on his part; but he was b