s about Mr. George Meredith's novels, and (when abroad) was a
perfect Baedeker, or Murray, or Mr. Augustus Hare: instructing through
correspondence. So the matron complained, but this was not the worst of
it. There was an unhappy family history, of a kind infinitely more
common in fiction than in real life. To be explicit, even according to
the ideas of the most abject barbarians, the young people, unwittingly,
were too near akin for matrimony.

'There is nothing for it but to tell both of them the truth,' said
Merton. 'This is not a case in which we can be concerned.'

The resolute matron did not take his counsel. The man was told, not the
girl, who died in painful circumstances, still writing. Her letters were
later given to the world, though obviously not intended for publication,
and only calculated to waken unavailing grief among the sentimental, and
to make the judicious tired. There was, however, a case in which Merton
may be said to have succeeded by a happy accident. Two visitors, ladies,
were ushered into his consulting room; they were announced as Miss
Baddeley and Miss Crofton.

Miss Baddeley was attired in black, wore a thick veil, and trembled a
good deal. Miss Crofton, whose dress was a combination of untoward but
decisive hues, and whose hat was enormous and flamboyant, appeared to be
the other young lady's _confidante_, and conducted the business of the
interview.

'My dear friend, Miss Baddeley,' she began, when Miss Baddeley took her
hand, and held it, as if for protection and sympathy. 'My dear friend,'
repeated Miss Crofton, 'has asked me to accompany her, and state her
case. She is too highly strung to speak for herself.'

Miss Baddeley wrung Miss Crofton's hand, and visibly quivered.

Merton assumed an air of sympathy. 'The situation is grave?' he asked.

'My friend,' said Miss Crofton, thoroughly enjoying herself, 'is the
victim of passionate and unavailing remorse, are you not, Julia?' Julia
nodded.

'Deeply as I sympathise,' said Merton, 'it appears to me that I am
scarcely the person to consult. A mother now--'

'Julia has none.'

'Or a father or sister?'

'But for me, Julia is alone in the world.'

'Then,' said Merton, 'there are many periodicals especially intended for
ladies. There is _The Woman of the World_, _The Girl's Guardian Angel_,
_Fashion and Passion_, and so on. The Editors, in their columns, reply
to questions in cases of conscience. I have myself r