would come back and live at Battersby until he was married, and he
would pay his father handsomely for board and lodging. In fact it would
be only right that Theobald should make a profit, nor would Ernest
himself wish it to be other than a handsome one; this was far the best
and simplest arrangement; and he could take his sister out more than
Theobald or Joey cared to do, and would also doubtless entertain very
handsomely at Battersby.

"Of course he would buy Joey a living, and make large presents yearly to
his sister--was there anything else? Oh! yes--he would become a county
magnate now; a man with nearly 4000 pounds a year should certainly become
a county magnate. He might even go into Parliament. He had very fair
abilities, nothing indeed approaching such genius as Dr Skinner's, nor
even as Theobald's, still he was not deficient and if he got into
Parliament--so young too--there was nothing to hinder his being Prime
Minister before he died, and if so, of course, he would become a peer.
Oh! why did he not set about it all at once, so that she might live to
hear people call her son 'my lord'--Lord Battersby she thought would do
very nicely, and if she was well enough to sit he must certainly have her
portrait painted at full length for one end of his large dining-hall. It
should be exhibited at the Royal Academy: 'Portrait of Lord Battersby's
mother,' she said to herself, and her heart fluttered with all its wonted
vivacity. If she could not sit, happily, she had been photographed not
so very long ago, and the portrait had been as successful as any
photograph could be of a face which depended so entirely upon its
expression as her own. Perhaps the painter could take the portrait
sufficiently from this. It was better after all that Ernest had given up
the Church--how far more wisely God arranges matters for us than ever we
can do for ourselves! She saw it all now--it was Joey who would become
Archbishop of Canterbury and Ernest would remain a layman and become
Prime Minister" . . . and so on till her daughter told her it was time to
take her medicine.

I suppose this reverie, which is a mere fragment of what actually ran
through Christina's brain, occupied about a minute and a half, but it, or
the presence of her son, seemed to revive her spirits wonderfully. Ill,
dying indeed, and suffering as she was, she brightened up so as to laugh
once or twice quite merrily during the course of the afternoon. Next da