elaborated, and even the one or two lines of assault which Mrs. Furze had
prepared turned out to be useless. It is all very well to decide what is
to be done with a human being if the human being will but comport himself
in a fairly average manner, but if he will not the plan is likely to
fail.

Mr. Furze was very restless during his meal. He went to the window two
or three times, and returned with the remark that it was going to be wet;
but the observation was made in a low, mumbling tone. Mrs. Furze was
also fidgety, and, in reply to her daughter's questions, complained of
headache, and wondered that Catharine could not see that she had had no
sleep. At last the storm broke.

"Catharine!" said Mrs. Furze, "it _was_ Tom, then, who came home with you
last night."

"It was Tom, mother."

"Tom! What do you mean, child? How--how did he--where did you meet
him?"

Mr. Furze retired from the table, where the sun fell full upon him, and
sat in the easy chair, where he was more in the shade.

"He overtook me somewhere near the Rectory."

"Now, Catharine, don't answer your mother like that," interposed Mr.
Furze; "you know what you heard, or might have heard, last Sunday
morning, that prevarication is very much like a lie; why don't you speak
out the truth?"

Catharine was silent for a moment.

"I have answered exactly the question mother asked."

"Catharine, you know perfectly well what I mean," said Mrs. Furze; "what
is the use of pretending you do not! Tom would never dare to walk with
you in a public street, and at night, too, if there were not something
more than you like to say. Tom Catchpole! whose father sold laces on the
bridge; and to think of all we have done for you, and the money we have
spent on you, and the pains we have taken to bring you up respectably! I
will not say anything about religion, and all that, for I daresay that is
nothing to _you_, but you might have had some consideration for your
mother, especially in her weak state of health, before you broke her
heart, and yet I blame myself, for you always had low tastes--going to
Bellamy's, and consorting with people of that kind rather than with your
mother's friends. Do you suppose Mrs. Colston will come near us again!
And it all comes of trying to do one's best, for there's Carry Hawkins,
only a grocer's daughter, who never had a sixpence spent on her compared
with what you have, and she is engaged to Carver, the doctor at
Cambridge