"Yes; I see who it's from--and what is it all about? I shan't read
it. You can tell me, I suppose, what's in it."

"I had hoped that perhaps, sir, you and he might--"

"Might what?"

"Be brought together as brothers and friends."

"Brothers and friends! One can't choose one's brother; but who would
choose to be the friend of a swindler? Is that what the letter is
about?"

"Not exactly that, Mr. Bertram."

"Then what the d---- is it?"

"Sir Lionel, sir, has made me--"

"Made you what? Put your name to a bill, I suppose."

"No; indeed he has not. Nothing of that kind."

"Then what has he made you do?"

"He has not made me do anything; but he has sent me--an--an offer
of marriage." And poor Miss Baker, with her blue nose, looked up
so innocently, so imploringly, so trustingly, that any one but Mr.
Bertram would have comforted her.

"An offer of marriage from Sir Lionel!" said he.

"Yes," said Miss Baker, timidly. "Here it is; and I have come up to
consult you about the answer." Mr. Bertram now did take the letter,
and did read it through.

"Well!" he said, closing his eyes and shaking his head gently.
"Well!"

"I thought it better to do nothing without seeing you. And that is
what has brought me to Hadley in such a hurry."

"The audacious, impudent scoundrel!"

"You think, then, that I should refuse him?"

"You are a fool, an ass! a downright old soft-headed fool!" Such was
the old gentleman's answer to her question.

"But I didn't know what to say without consulting you," said Miss
Baker, with her handkerchief to her face.

"Not know! Don't you know that he's a swindler, a reprobate, a
penniless adventurer? Good heavens! And you are such a fool as that!
It's well that you are not to be left at Littlebath by yourself."

Miss Baker made no attempt to defend herself, but, bursting into
tears, assured her uncle that she would be guided by him. Under his
absolute dictation she wrote the enclosed short answer to Sir Lionel.

Hadley, January --, 184--.

Dear Sir,

Mr. Bertram says that it will be sufficient to let you
know that he would not give me a penny during his life,
or leave me a penny at his death if I were to become your
wife.

Yours truly,

MARY BAKER.

That was all that the old gentleman would allow; but as she folded
the letter, she surreptitiously added the slightest imaginable
postscript to explain the matter--such words as occurred to her at
th