Mrs. MacHugh to Miss Stanbury. "We thought she couldn't say boo
to a goose at first; but she holds her own now among the best of
'em."

"Of course she does;--why shouldn't she? I never knew a Stanbury yet
that was a fool."

"They are a wonderful family, of course," said Mrs. MacHugh; "but I
think that of all of them she is the most wonderful. Old Barty said
something to her at my house yesterday that wasn't intended to be
kind."

"When did he ever intend to be kind?"

"But he got no change out of her. 'The Burgesses have been in Exeter
a long time,' she said, 'and I don't see why we should not get on at
any rate as well as those before us.' Barty grunted and growled and
slunk away. He thought she would shake in her shoes when he spoke to
her."

"He has never been able to make a Stanbury shake in her shoes yet,"
said the old lady.

Early in September, Dorothy went to Nuncombe Putney to spend a week
with her mother and sister at the cottage. She had insisted on this,
though Priscilla had hinted, somewhat unnecessarily, that Dorothy,
with her past comforts and her future prospects, would find the
accommodation at the cottage very limited. "I suppose you and I,
Pris, can sleep in the same bed, as we always did," she said, with a
tear in each eye. Then Priscilla had felt ashamed of herself, and had
bade her come.

"The truth is, Dolly," said the elder sister, "that we feel so unlike
marrying and giving in marriage at Nuncombe, that I'm afraid you'll
lose your brightness and become dowdy, and grim, and misanthropic, as
we are. When mamma and I sit down to what we call dinner, I always
feel that there is a grace hovering in the air different to that
which she says."

"And what is it, Pris?"

"Pray, God, don't quite starve us, and let everybody else have
indigestion. We don't say it out loud, but there it is; and the
spirit of it might damp the orange blossoms."

She went of course, and the orange blossoms were not damped. She had
long walks with her sister round by Niddon and Ridleigh, and even as
far distant as Cockchaffington, where much was said about that wicked
Colonel as they stood looking at the porch of the church. "I shall be
so happy," said Dorothy, "when you and mother come to us. It will be
such a joy to me that you should be my guests."

"But we shall not come."

"Why not, Priscilla?"

"I know it will be so. Mamma will not care for going, if I do not
go."

"And why should you not come?"

"F