aid Phoebe, smiling. 'I was only thinking
what he should be like.'

'Well, what?' said Mrs. Fulmort, with girlish curiosity. 'Not that it's
any use settling. I always thought I would marry a marquis's younger
son, because it is such a pretty title, and that he should play on the
guitar. But he must not be an officer, Phoebe; we have had trouble
enough about that.'

'I don't know what he is to be, mamma,' said Phoebe, earnestly, 'except
that he should be as sensible as Miss Fennimore, and as good as Miss
Charlecote. Perhaps a man could put both into one, and then he could
lead me, and always show me the reason of what is right.'

'Phoebe, Phoebe! you will never get married if you wait for a
philosopher. Your papa would never like a very clever genius or an
author.'

'I don't want him to be a genius, but he must be wise.'

'Oh, my dear! That comes of the way young ladies are brought up. What
would the Miss Berrilees have said, where I was at school at Bath, if one
of their young ladies had talked of wanting to marry a wise man?'

Phoebe gave a faint smile, and said, 'What was Mr. Charlecote like,
mamma, whose brass was put up the day Robert was locked into the church?'

'Humfrey Charlecote, my dear? The dearest, most good-hearted man that
ever lived. Everybody liked him. There was no one that did not feel as
if they had lost a brother when he was taken off in that sudden way.'

'And was not he very wise, mamma?'

'Bless me, Phoebe, what could have put that into your head? Humfrey
Charlecote a wise man? He was just a common, old-fashioned, hearty
country squire. It was only that he was so friendly and kind-hearted
that made every one trust him, and ask his advice.'

'I should like to have known him,' said Phoebe, with a sigh.

'Ah, if you married any one like that! But there's no use waiting!
There's nobody left like him, and I won't have you an old maid! You are
prettier than either of your sisters--more like me when I came away from
Miss Berrilees, and had a gold-sprigged muslin for the Assize Ball, and
Humfrey Charlecote danced with me.'

Phoebe fell into speculations on the wisdom whose counsel all asked, and
which had left such an impression of affectionate honour. She would
gladly lean on such an one, but if no one of the like mould remained, she
thought she could never bear the responsibilities of marriage.

Meantime she erected Humfrey Charlecote's image into a species of judge,
layi