while ago you were urging me to make
myself useful. I propose a way, in which I want your co-operation,
calculated to be highly beneficial in a variety of ways,--and I hit
upon hindrances directly."

"Philip, it isn't that. I cannot bear to think of your marrying a woman
unworthy of you."

"I still less!" he assured her, with mock gravity.

"And that is what you are thinking of. A woman without education,
without breeding, without knowledge of the world, without _anything_,
that could make her a fit companion for you. Philip, give this up!"

"Not my plan," said he cheerfully. "The rest is all in your
imagination. What you have to do, if you will grant my prayer, is to
make this little country girl the exact opposite of all that. You will
do it, won't you?"

"Where will you be?"

"Not near, to trouble you. Probably in Europe. I think of going with
the Caruthers in the spring."

"What makes you think this girl wants--I mean, desires--education?"

"If she does not, then the fat's in the fire, that's all."

"I did not know you were so romantic, before."

"Romantic! Could anything be more practical? And I think it will be so
good for you, in that sea air."

"I would rather never smell the sea air, if this is going to be for
your damage. Does the girl know you are an admirer of hers?"

"She hardly knows I am in the world! O yes, she has seen me, and I have
talked with her; by which means I come to know that labour spent on her
will not be spent in vain. But of me _she_ knows nothing."

"After talking with you!" said Mrs. Barclay. "What else is she?
Handsome?"

"Perhaps I had better let you judge of that. I could never marry a mere
pretty face, I think. But there is a wonderful charm about this
creature, which I do not yet understand. I have never been able to find
out what is the secret of it."

"A pretty face and a pink cheek!" said Mrs. Barclay, with half a groan.
"You are all alike, you men! Now we women--Philip, is the thing mutual
already? Does she think of you as you think of her?"

"She does not think of me at all," said he, sitting down again, and
facing Mrs. Barclay with an earnest face. "She hardly knows me. Her
attention has been taken up, I fancy, with another suitor."

"Another suitor! You are not going to be Quixote enough to educate a
wife for another man?"

"No," said he, half laughing. "The other man is out of the way, and
makes no more pretension."

"Rejected? And how do you know al