no. 'Tis all right, George," said his wife; and she assured him
that such things always did appear so gloomy in the night-time, if
people allowed their minds to run on them; that when morning came it
was seen that such fears were nothing but shadows. "Grace is as well as
you or I," she declared.

But he persisted that she did not see all--that she did not see as much
as he. His daughter's not writing was only one part of his worry. On
account of her he was anxious concerning money affairs, which he would
never alarm his mind about otherwise. The reason he gave was that, as
she had nobody to depend upon for a provision but himself, he wished
her, when he was gone, to be securely out of risk of poverty.

To this Mrs. Melbury replied that Grace would be sure to marry well,
and that hence a hundred pounds more or less from him would not make
much difference.

Her husband said that that was what she, Mrs. Melbury, naturally
thought; but there she was wrong, and in that lay the source of his
trouble. "I have a plan in my head about her," he said; "and according
to my plan she won't marry a rich man."

"A plan for her not to marry well?" said his wife, surprised.

"Well, in one sense it is that," replied Melbury. "It is a plan for
her to marry a particular person, and as he has not so much money as
she might expect, it might be called as you call it. I may not be able
to carry it out; and even if I do, it may not be a good thing for her.
I want her to marry Giles Winterborne."

His companion repeated the name. "Well, it is all right," she said,
presently. "He adores the very ground she walks on; only he's close,
and won't show it much."

Marty South appeared startled, and could not tear herself away.

Yes, the timber-merchant asserted, he knew that well enough.
Winterborne had been interested in his daughter for years; that was
what had led him into the notion of their union. And he knew that she
used to have no objection to him. But it was not any difficulty about
that which embarrassed him. It was that, since he had educated her so
well, and so long, and so far above the level of daughters thereabout,
it was "wasting her" to give her to a man of no higher standing than
the young man in question.

"That's what I have been thinking," said Mrs. Melbury.

"Well, then, Lucy, now you've hit it," answered the timber-merchant,
with feeling. "There lies my trouble. I vowed to let her marry him,
and to make h