dear
Arthur with a tom-cat! But tell me, how can I go to Madeira? Supposing
that he is married?"

"Well, then you would learn all about it for yourself, and no
gammoning; and there'd be an end to it, one way or the other."

"But would it be quite modest, to run after him like that?"

"Modest, indeed! And why shouldn't a young lady travel for her health?
I have heard say that this Madeiry is a wonderful place for the
stomach."

"The lungs, Pigott--the lungs."

"Well, then, the lungs. But it don't matter; they ain't far off each
other."

"But, Pigott, who could I go with? I could not go alone."

"Go with? Why, me, of course."

"I can hardly fancy you at sea, Pigott."

"And why not, miss? I dare say I shall do as well as other folks
there; and if I do go to the bottom, as seems likely, there's plenty
of room for a respectable person there, I should hope. Look here,
dear. You'll never be happy unless you marry Mr. Arthur; so don't you
go and throw away a chance, just out of foolishness, and for fear of
what folks say. That's how dozens of women make a mess of it. Folks
say one thing to-day and another to-morrow, but you'll remain you for
all that. Maybe he's married; and, if so, it's a bad business, and
there's an end of it; but maybe, too, he isn't. As for that letter, as
likely as not the other one will put it in the fire. I should, I
doubt, if I were in her shoes. So don't you lose any time, for, if he
isn't married, it's like enough he soon will be."

Angela felt that there was sense in what her old nurse said, though
the idea was a new one to her, and it made her thoughtful.

"I'll think about it," she said, presently. "I wonder what Mr. Fraser
would say about it."

"Perhaps one thing, and perhaps another. He's good and kind, but he
hasn't got much head for these sort of things, he's always thinking of
something else. Just look what a fool Squire George (may he twist and
turn in his grave) made of him. You ask him, if you like; but you be
guided by yourself, dearie. Your head is worth six Reverend Fraser's
when you bring it to a thing. But I must be off, and count the linen."

That evening, after tea, Angela went down to Mr. Fraser's. He was
directing an envelope to the Lord Bishop of his diocese when she
entered; but he hurriedly put it away in the blotting-paper.

"Well, Angela, did you get your letter off?"

"Yes, Mr. Fraser, it was just in time to catch the mail to-morrow.
But, do you know, tha