e question--"though I am not aware of having exercised any special
choice in the matter," he added, with a laugh. "However, I want you to
come with me and see her, and then you will be able to judge for
yourself."

The Squire shook his head, and looked as if he had travelled back into
the heavy roll of family distresses. "I don't mean to upbraid you,
Frank," he said--"I daresay you have done what you thought was your
duty--but I think you might have taken a little pains to satisfy
your aunt Leonora. You see what Gerald has made of it, with all
his decorations and nonsense. That is a dreadful drawback with you
clergymen. You fix your eyes so on one point that you get to think
things important that are not in the least important. Could you imagine
a man of the world like Jack--he is not what I could wish, but still he
is a man of the world," said the Squire, who was capable of contradicting
himself with perfect composure without knowing it. "Can you imagine
_him_ risking his prospects for a bit of external decoration? I don't
mind it myself," said Mr Wentworth, impartially--"I don't pretend to
see, for my own part, why flowers at Easter should be considered more
superstitious than holly at Christmas; but, bless my soul, sir, when
your aunt thought so, what was the good of running right in her face for
such a trifle? I never could understand you parsons," the Squire said,
with an impatient sigh--"nobody, that I know of, ever considered me
mercenary; but to ruin your own prospects, all for a trumpery bunch of
flowers, and then to come and tell me you want to marry--"

This was before luncheon, when Frank and his father were together in
the dining-room waiting for the other members of the family, who began
to arrive at this moment, and prevented any further discussion. After
all, perhaps, it was a little ungenerous of the Squire to press his
son so hard on the subject of those innocent Easter lilies, long ago
withered, which certainly, looked at from this distance, did not
appear important enough to sacrifice any prospects for. This was all
the harder upon the unfortunate Curate, as even at the time his
conviction of their necessity had not proved equal to the satisfactory
settlement of the question. Miss Wentworth's cook was an _artiste_ so
irreproachable that the luncheon provided was in itself perfect; but
notwithstanding it was an uncomfortable meal. Miss Leonora, in
consequence of the contest going on in her own mind,