to
be settled in life. Not a few knew the story of Lord Alfred. Every
one knew the facts of the property and Emily's position as heiress,
though every one probably did not know that it was still in Sir
Harry's power to leave every acre of the property to whom he pleased.
Emily understood it all herself. There lay upon her that terrible
responsibility of doing her best with the Hotspur interests. To
her the death of her brother had at the time been the blackest of
misfortunes, and it was not the less so now as she thought of her
own position. She had been steady enough as to the refusal of Lord
Alfred, knowing well enough that she cared nothing for him. But there
had since come upon her moments almost of regret that she should have
been unable to accept him. It would have been so easy a way of escape
from all her troubles without the assistance of Madame Milvodi, and
the opera-box, and the Park horses! At the time she had her own ideas
about another man, but her ideas were not such as to make her think
that any further work with Madame Milvodi and the opera-box would be
unnecessary.

Then came the question of asking Cousin George to the house. He had
already been told to come on Sundays, and on the very next Sunday had
been there. He had given no cause of offence at Humblethwaite, and
Lady Elizabeth was of opinion that he should be asked to dinner.
If he were not asked, the very omission would show that they were
afraid of him. Lady Elizabeth did not exactly explain this to her
husband,--did not accurately know that such was her fear; but Sir
Harry understood her feelings, and yielded. Let Cousin George be
asked to dinner.

Sir Harry at this time was vacillating with more of weakness than
would have been expected from a man who had generally been so firm
in the affairs of his life. He had been quite clear about George
Hotspur, when those inquiries of his were first made, and when his
mind had first accepted the notion of Lord Alfred as his chosen
son-in-law. But now he was again at sea. He was so conscious of the
importance of his daughter's case, that he could not bring himself to
be at ease, and to allow himself to expect that the girl would, in
the ordinary course of nature, dispose of her young heart not to her
own injury, as might reasonably be hoped from her temperament, her
character, and her education. He could not protect himself from daily
and hourly thought about it. Her marriage was not as the marriage of