er lips, except the general information that they were all getting
well now.

The busy woman evidently had something on her mind, and plunged at once
_in medias res_.

"Agatha, dear, I came to have a little talk with you."

"Very well," said Agatha smiling; calmly and prepared to give up her
morning to the discussion of some knotty point in dress or infantile
education. But she soon perceived that Emma's pretty face was too
ominously important for anything short of that gravest interest of
feminine life--matrimony; or more properly in this case--match-making.

"Agatha, love," repeated Emma, with the affectionate accent that was
always quite real, but which now deepened under the circumstances of
the case, "do you know that young Northen has been speaking to Mr.
Thornycroft about you again."

"I am very sorry for it," was the short answer.

"But, my dear,'isn't it a great pity that you could not like the young
man? Such a good young man too, and with such a nice establishment
already. If you could only see his house in Cumberland Terrace--the real
Turkey carpets, inlaid tables, and damask chairs."

"But I can't marry carpets, tables, and chairs."

"Agatha, you are _so_ funny! Certainly not, without the poor man
himself. But there is no harm in him, and I am sure he would make an
excellent husband."

"I sincerely hope so, provided he is not mine. Come, Tittens, tell Mrs.
Thornycroft what _you_ think on the matter," cried the wilful girl,
trying to turn the question off by catching her little favourite. But
Emma would not thus be set aside. She was evidently well primed with a
stronger and steadier motive than what usually occupied and sufficed her
easy mind.

"Ah, how can you be so childish! But when you come to my age"---

"I shall, in a few more years. I wonder if I shall be as young-looking
as you, Emma?" This was a very adroit thrust on the part of Miss Agatha,
but for once it failed.

"I hope and trust so, dear. That is, if you have as good a husband as
I have. Only, be he what he may, he cannot be such another as my dear
James."

Agatha internally hoped he might not; for, much as she liked and
respected Emma's good spouse, her ideal of a husband was certainly not
Mr. James Thornycroft.

"Tell me," continued the anxious matron, keeping up the charge--"tell
me, Agatha, do you ever intend to marry at all?

"Perhaps so; I can't say. Ask Tittens!"

"Did you ever think in earnest of marrying? And"--he