ns were needless. The lady was Mrs. Hilbery.

"I hope you're not disposing of somebody's fortune in a hurry," she
remarked, gazing at the documents on his table, "or cutting off an
entail at one blow, because I want to ask you to do me a favor. And
Anderson won't keep his horse waiting. (Anderson is a perfect tyrant,
but he drove my dear father to the Abbey the day they buried him.) I
made bold to come to you, Mr. Denham, not exactly in search of legal
assistance (though I don't know who I'd rather come to, if I were in
trouble), but in order to ask your help in settling some tiresome
little domestic affairs that have arisen in my absence. I've been to
Stratford-on-Avon (I must tell you all about that one of these days),
and there I got a letter from my sister-in-law, a dear kind goose who
likes interfering with other people's children because she's got none of
her own. (We're dreadfully afraid that she's going to lose the sight of
one of her eyes, and I always feel that our physical ailments are so apt
to turn into mental ailments. I think Matthew Arnold says something of
the same kind about Lord Byron.) But that's neither here nor there."

The effect of these parentheses, whether they were introduced for that
purpose or represented a natural instinct on Mrs. Hilbery's part to
embellish the bareness of her discourse, gave Ralph time to perceive
that she possessed all the facts of their situation and was come,
somehow, in the capacity of ambassador.

"I didn't come here to talk about Lord Byron," Mrs. Hilbery continued,
with a little laugh, "though I know that both you and Katharine, unlike
other young people of your generation, still find him worth reading."
She paused. "I'm so glad you've made Katharine read poetry, Mr. Denham!"
she exclaimed, "and feel poetry, and look poetry! She can't talk it yet,
but she will--oh, she will!"

Ralph, whose hand was grasped and whose tongue almost refused to
articulate, somehow contrived to say that there were moments when he
felt hopeless, utterly hopeless, though he gave no reason for this
statement on his part.

"But you care for her?" Mrs. Hilbery inquired.

"Good God!" he exclaimed, with a vehemence which admitted of no
question.

"It's the Church of England service you both object to?" Mrs. Hilbery
inquired innocently.

"I don't care a damn what service it is," Ralph replied.

"You would marry her in Westminster Abbey if the worst came to the
worst?" Mrs. Hilbery in