."

"No--but my father!--Oh, dear William! if you did but know how he hates
finery, and foreigners, and whiskers, and britschkas! Oh, dear William,
send off the French gentleman and the outlandish carriage--run into the
coppice and put on the shooting-dress!"

"Oh, Susan!" began William; but Susan having once summoned up courage
sufficient to put her remonstrances into words, followed up the attack
with an earnestness that did not admit a moment's interruption.

"My father hates finery even more than Harebell or Hector would do. You
know his country notions, dear William; and I think that latterly he has
hated everything that looks Londonish and new-fangled worse than ever.
We are old-fashioned people at Rutherford. There's your pretty old
friend Mary Amott can't abide gewgaws any more than my father."

"Mary Arnott! You mean Mrs. Giles. What do I care for her likes and
dislikes?" exclaimed William, haughtily.

"I mean Mary Arnott, and not Mrs. Giles, and you do care for her likes
and dislikes a great deal," replied his sister, with some archness.
"Poor Mary, when the week before that fixed for the wedding arrived,
felt that she _could_ not marry Master Jacob Giles; so she found an
opportunity of speaking to him alone, and told him the truth. I even
believe, although I have no warrant for saying so, that she confessed
she could not love him because she loved another. Master Giles behaved
like a wise man, and told her father that it would be very wrong to
force her inclinations. He behaved kindly as well as wisely, for he
endeavoured to reconcile all parties, and put matters in train for the
wedding that had hindered his. This at that time Master Arnott would not
hear of, and therefore we did not tell you that the marriage which you
took for granted had gone off. Till about three months ago, that odious
lawsuit was in full action, and Master Arnott as violently set against
my father as ever. Then, however, he was taken ill, and, upon his
deathbed, he sent for his old friend, begged his pardon, and appointed
him guardian to Mary. And there she is at home--for she would not come
to meet you--but there she is, hoping to find you just what you were
when you went away, and hating Frenchmen, and britschkas, and finery,
and the smell of musk, just as if she were my father's daughter in good
earnest. And now, dear William, I know what has been passing in your
mind, quite as well as if hearts were peep-shows, and one could se