and I will tell her so, too, if I see any sign of her letting
herself be bullied."

"I fear Marian will not pay much heed to what I say to her," said the
clergyman.

"If you are coming," said Elinor, "you had better come in my cab.
Good-night, Uncle Reginald."

"Stay," said Mr. Lind, irresolutely. "Elinor, I--you--Will you exercise
your influence to induce Marian to return? I think you owe me at least
so much."

"I will if you will withdraw your opposition to her marriage and let her
do as she likes. But if you can give her no better reason for returning
than that she can be more conveniently persecuted here than at St.
Mary's Terrace, she will probably stay where she is, no matter how I may
influence her."

"If she is resolved to quarrel with me, I cannot help it," said Mr.
Lind, pettishly.

"You know very well that she is the last person on earth to quarrel with
anyone."

"She has been indulged in every way. This is the first time she has been
asked to sacrifice her own wishes."

"To sacrifice her whole life, you mean. It is the first time she has
ever hesitated to sacrifice her own comfort, and therefore the first
time you are conscious that any sacrifice is required. Let me tell her
that you will allow her to take her own course, Uncle Reginald. He is
well enough off; and they are fond of one another. A man of genius is
worth fifty men of rank."

"Tell her, if you please, Elinor, that she must choose between Mr.
Conolly and me. If she prefers him, well and good: I have done with her.
That is my last word."

"So now she has nobody to turn to in the world except him. That is
sensible. Come, cousin George! I am off."

"I do not think I should do any good by going," said the clergyman.

"Then stay where you are," said Elinor. "Good-night." And she abruptly
left the room.

"It was a dreadful mistake ever to have allowed that young fury to
enter the house," said Mr. Lind. "She must be mad. What did _he_ say?"

"He said a great deal in attempted self-justification. But I could make
no impression on him. We have no feelings in common with a man of his
type. No. He is evidently bent on raising himself by a good marriage."

"We cannot prevent it."

"Oh, surely we----"

"I tell you we _cannot_ prevent it," repeated Mr. Lind, turning angrily
upon his son. "How can we? What can we do? She will marry
this--this--this--this beggar. I wish to God I had never seen her
mother."

The clergyman stood by, cowe