an's tenant, was one of his father's, so that he spoke quite truly when
he told Meg he had "stacks of relations down at Amber Guiting."

Colonel Walcote was much better off than his elder brother, the squire
of Amber Guiting, for he benefited by the Middleton money.

Miles Middleton's father was the originator of "Middleton's Made
Starch," which was used everywhere and was supposed to be superior to
all other starches. Why "Made" scoffers could never understand, for it
required precisely the same treatment as other starches. But the British
Public believed in it, the British Public also bought it in large
quantities, and George Middleton, son of Mutton-Pie Middleton, a
well-to-do confectioner in Doncaster, became an exceedingly rich man. He
did not marry till he was forty, and then he married "family," for Lady
Agnes Keills, younger daughter of Lord Glencarse, had a long pedigree
and no dower at all. She was a good wife to him, gentle, upright, and
always affectionate. She adored their only child, Miles, and died quite
suddenly from heart failure, just after that cheerful youth had joined
at Woolwich. George Middleton died some three years later, leaving his
money absolutely to his son, who came of age at twenty-five. And, so
far, Miles had justified his father's faith in him, for he had never
done anything very foolish, and a certain strain of Yorkshire shrewdness
prevented him from committing any wild extravagance.

He was generous, kindly, and keen on his profession, and he had reached
the age of thirty-two without ever having felt any overwhelming desire
to marry; though it was pretty well known that considerable efforts to
marry him suitably had been made by both mothers and daughters.

The beautiful and level-headed young ladies of musical comedy had failed
to land this considerable fish, angled they never so skilfully; though
he frankly enjoyed their amusing society and was quite liberal, though
not lavish, in the way of presents.

Young women of his own rank were pleasant to him, their mothers cordial,
and no difficulty was ever put in the way of his enjoying their society.
But he was not very susceptible. Deep in his heart, in some dim,
unacknowledged corner, there lay a humble, homely desire that he might
_feel_ a great deal more strongly than he had felt yet, when the time
and the woman came to him.

Never, until Meg smiled at him when he offered to carry little Fay up
that long staircase, had the though