ok all the romance out of her. If there is anything I do hate it
is romance, while bread and meat, and coals, and washing, are so
dear." With this Mrs. Dosett took herself and her troubles up to her
bedroom.

Mr. Dosett sat for a while gazing with speculative eyes at the embers
of the fire. He was conscious in his heart that some part of that
attack upon romance in general was intended for himself. Though he
did not look to be romantic, especially when seated at his desk in
Somerset House, with his big index-book before him, still there was
left about him some touch of poetry, and an appreciation of the finer
feelings of our nature. Though he could have wished that Ayala should
have been able to take one of these three well-to-do suitors, who
were so anxious to obtain her hand, still he could not bring himself
not to respect her, still he was unable not to love her, because she
was steadfastly averse to accept as a husband a man for whom she had
no affection. As he looked at the embers he asked himself how it
ought to be. Here was a girl whose only gift in life was her own
personal charm. That that charm must be powerful was evident from the
fact that she could so attract such men as these. Of the good things
of the world, of a pleasant home, of ample means, and of all that
absence of care which comes from money, poor Mr. Dosett had by no
means a poor appreciation. That men are justified in seeking these
good things by their energy, industry, and talents, he was quite
confident. How was it with a girl who had nothing else but her
beauty,--or, perhaps, her wit,--in lieu of energy and industry? Was
she justified in carrying her wares also into the market, and making
the most of them? The embers had burned so low, and he had become so
cold before he had settled the question in his own mind, that he was
obliged to go up to bed, leaving it unsettled.

CHAPTER XL.

AUNT EMMELINE'S NEW PROPOSITION.

A few days after this, just as the bread and cheese had been put on
the table for the modest mid-day meal at Kingsbury Crescent, there
came a most unwonted honour on Mrs. Dosett. It was a call from no
less a person than Lady Tringle herself, who had come all the way up
from Merle Park on purpose. It was a Saturday. She had travelled by
herself and intended to go back on the same day with her husband.
This was an amount of trouble which she very seldom gave herself,
not often making a journey to London during the period