husband in the world. She is believing
every word he says.'

'It is very happy for her that she can,' pleaded Mary.

'So it is, yes, but--when one knows what he is, and what she is! Oh,
Mr. Dutton, is the poor child gone in?'

'Yes, I saw her safe into the room. She was very near running off up
the stairs,' said Mr. Dutton. 'But I daresay she is fascinated by this
time. That sort of man has great power over women.'

'Nuttie is hardly a woman yet,' said Miss Nugent.

'No, but there must be a strong reaction, when she sees something
unlike her compound of Marmion and Theseus.'

'I suppose there is no question but that they must go with him!' said
Miss Headworth wistfully.

'Assuredly. You say he--this Egremont--was affectionate,' said Mr.
Dutton quietly, but Mary saw his fingers white with his tight clenching
of the bar of the chair.

'Oh yes, warmly affectionate, delighted to find her prettier than ever,
poor dear; I suppose he meant it. Heaven forgive me, if I am judging
him too hardly, but I verily believe he went to church to reconnoitre,
and see whether she pleased his fancy--'

'And do you understand,' added Mr. Dutton, 'that he is prepared to do
her full justice, and introduce her to his family and friends as his
wife, on equal terms? Otherwise, even if she were unwilling to stand
up for herself, it would be the duty of her friends to make some
stipulations.'

'I am pretty sure that he does,' said the aunt; 'I did not stay long
when I saw that I was not wanted, but I heard him say something about
his having a home for her now, and her cutting out the Redcastle
ladies.'

'Besides, there is the nephew, Mr. Mark Egremont,' said Mary. 'He will
take care of her.'

'Yes,' said Mr. Dutton. 'It appears to be all right. At any rate,
there can be no grounds for interference on our part.'

Mr. Dutton took his leave with these words, wringing Miss Headworth's
hand in mute sympathy, and she, poor old lady, when he was gone, fairly
collapsed into bitter weeping over the uncertain future of those whom
she had loved as her own children, and who now must leave her desolate.
Mary did her best with comfort and sympathy, and presently took her to
share her griefs and fears with gentle old Mrs. Nugent.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE FATHER.

'I do think this lady
To be my child.'--King Lear.

Nuttie, in her fresh holland Sunday dress, worked in crewels with wild
strawberries by her mother's hands, a