m."

"I thought that was all over years ago."

"As far as she is concerned, perhaps. I'm sure Edward still looks upon
it as going to happen some day."

"I don't believe she'll marry Graham, even if he wants her. He's just
such another as Edward, with a trifle more sense."

"No, Herbert, he is quite different. I like him. I think it would be a
good thing for Cicely to marry him."

"She ought to have the chance of seeing other fellows. Then, if she
likes to embark afresh on a vegetable existence, it will be her own
choice. Of course, you needn't vegetate, living in the country, but the
wife of Jim Graham probably would. Give her her chance, anyway."

But this particular chance was denied to Cicely. The Squire wouldn't
hear of it. "My dear Emmeline," he said, "it is very kind of you--very
kind of you indeed. But she'd only get unsettled. She's got maggots in
her head already. I hope some day to see her married to a country
gentleman, like her mother before her. Though I say it, no women could
be better off. Until the time comes, it's best for Cicely to stay at
home."

"Idiot!" said Mr. Birket, when the decision was conveyed to him. "I was
mistaken in him. I think now he would be capable of any infamy. Don't
tell Cicely, Emmeline."

But the Squire told her, and rebuked her because the invitation had been
offered. "What you have to do," he said, "is to make yourself happy at
home. Heaven knows there's enough to make you so. You have everything
that a girl can want. For goodness' sake be contented with it, and don't
always want to be gadding about."

Cicely felt too sore to answer him, and retired as soon as his homily
was over. In the afternoon--it was on Sunday--she went for a walk with
her uncle. He did not express himself to her as he had done to Mrs.
Birket, but gave her the impression that he thought her father's refusal
unfortunate, but not unreasonable, smiling inwardly to himself as he did
so.

"I should have loved to come, you know, Uncle Herbert," she said.

"And we should have loved to have you, my dear," he said. "But, after
all, Kencote is a very jolly place, and it's your own fault if you're
bored in it. Nobody ought to be bored anywhere. I never am."

"Well then, please tell me what to do with myself."

"What do you do, as it is?"

"I read a little, and try to paint, and----"

"Then read more, and try to paint better. Effort, my dear,--that's the
secret of life. Give yourself some trouble."