e as being, at
any rate, pleasanter than that in the Close. But since that cool
reflection had come. The proposal was not that he should marry Miss
Stanbury, senior, who certainly could be severe on occasions, but
Miss Stanbury, junior, whose temper was as sweet as primroses in
March. That which he would have to take from Miss Stanbury, senior,
was a certain sum of money, as to which her promise was as good as
any bond in the world. Things had come to such a pass with him in
Exeter,--from the hints of his friend the Prebend, from a word or two
which had come to him from the Dean, from certain family arrangements
proposed to him by his mother and sisters,--things had come to such
a pass that he was of a mind that he had better marry some one. He
had, as it were, three strings to his bow. There were the two French
strings, and there was Dorothy. He had not breadth of genius enough
to suggest to himself that yet another woman might be found. There
was a difficulty on the French score even about Miss Stanbury; but
it was clear to him that, failing her, he was due to one of the
two Miss Frenches. Now it was not only that the Miss Frenches were
empty-handed, but he was beginning to think himself that they were
not as nice as they might have been in reference to the arrangement
of their head-gear. Therefore, having given much thought to the
matter, and remembering that he had never yet had play for his own
eloquence with Dorothy, he had come to Miss Stanbury asking that he
might have another chance. It had been borne in upon him that he had
perhaps hitherto regarded Dorothy as too certainly his own since she
had been offered to him by her aunt,--as being a prize that required
no eloquence in the winning; and he thought that if he could have an
opportunity of amending that fault, it might even yet be well with
his suit. So he prepared himself, and asked permission, and now found
himself alone with the young lady.

"When last I was in this house, Miss Stanbury," he began, "I was not
fortunate enough to be allowed an opportunity of pleading my cause to
yourself." Then he paused, and Dorothy was left to consider how best
she might answer him. All that her aunt had said to her had not been
thrown away upon her. The calls upon that slender meal-tub at home
she knew were quite sufficient. And Mr. Gibson was, she believed, a
good man. And how better could she dispose of herself in life? And
what was she that she should scorn the love