their manner is odd, you know, for such
young creatures. You have been sacrificing yourself for them all this
time; but remember what I say--if you want to live happily, my dear,
you'll have to sacrifice them to your husband. I could not be content
without saying as much to you, Nettie. I never was half the good in this
world that you are, but I am nearly twice as old--and one does pick up
some little hints on the way. That is what you must do, Nettie. Make
some arrangement, dear. If he has promised to take them out with you,
that is all right enough; but when you come to settle down in your new
home, make some arrangement dear."

When Miss Wodehouse arrived breathless at the conclusion of a speech so
unusually long for her, she met Nettie's eyes flashing upon her with the
utmost surprise and curiosity. "I shall never marry anybody," said
Nettie. "What do you mean?"

"Don't say anything so foolish," said Miss Wodehouse, a little nettled.
"Do you suppose I don't know and see _that_ Mr Chatham coming and going?
How often has he been seen since the first time, Nettie? and do you
suppose it's all been benevolence? My dear, I know better."

Nettie looked up with a startled glance. She did not blush, nor betray
any pleasant consciousness. She cast one dismayed look back towards the
cottage, and another at Miss Wodehouse. "Can _that_ be why he comes?"
said Nettie, with quiet horror. "Indeed, I never thought of it before--but
all the same, I shall never marry anybody. Do you imagine," cried the
brilliant creature, flashing round upon poor Miss Wodehouse, so as to
dazzle and confuse that gentlewoman, "that a man has only to intend
such a thing and it's all settled? I think differently. Twenty thousand
Chathams would not move me. I shall never marry anybody, if I live to be
as old as--as you, or Methuselah, or anybody. It is not my lot. I shall
take the children out to Australia, and do the best I can for them.
Three children want a great deal of looking after--and after a while in
Carlingford, you will all forget that there ever was such a creature as
Nettie. No, I am not crying. I never cry. I should scorn to cry about
it. It is simply _my business_. That is what it is. One is sorry, of
course, and now and then it feels hard, and all that. But what did one
come into the world for, I should like to know? Does anybody suppose
it was just to be comfortable, and have one's own way? I have had my
own way a great deal--more than m