ouse, as he did again on the
Tuesday; but on neither day did he succeed in seeing Imogene. This he
thought to be hard, as the pleasure of her society was as sweet to
him as ever, though he was doubtful as to his wisdom in marrying her.
On the Wednesday morning he received a note from her asking him not
to come at once, because Mudbury had chosen to put himself into a
bad humour. Then a few words of honey were added; "Of course you
know that nothing that he can say will make a change. I am too
well satisfied to allow of any change that shall not come from you
yourself." He was quite alive to the sweetness of the honey, and
declared to himself that Mudbury Docimer's ill-humour was a matter to
him of no concern whatever.

But on the Wednesday there came also another letter,--in regard to
which it will be well that we should travel down again to Merle Park.
An answer altogether averse to the proposed changes as to the nieces
had been received from Mrs. Dosett. "As Ayala does not wish it, of
course nothing can be done." Such was the decision as conveyed by
Mrs. Dosett. It seemed to Lady Tringle that this was absurd. It was
all very well extending charity to the children of her deceased
sister, Mrs. Dormer; but all the world was agreed that beggars should
not be choosers. "As Ayala does not wish it." Why should not Ayala
wish it? What a fool must Ayala be not to wish it? Why should not
Ayala be made to do as she was told, whether she wished it or not?
Such were the indignant questions which Lady Tringle asked of her
husband. He was becoming sick of the young ladies altogether,--of her
own girls as well as the Dormer girls. "They are a pack of idiots
together," he said, "and Tom is the worst of the lot." With this he
rushed off to London, and consoled himself with his millions.

Mrs. Dosett's letter had reached Merle Park on the Tuesday morning,
Sir Thomas having remained down in the country over the Monday.
Gertrude, having calculated the course of the post with exactness,
had hoped to get a reply from Frank to that last letter of
hers,--dated from her sick bed, but written in truth after a little
surreptitious visit to the larder after the servants' dinner,--on
the Sunday morning. This had been possible, and would have evinced a
charming alacrity on the part of her lover. But this she had hardly
ventured to expect. Then she had looked with anxiety to the arrival
of letters on the Monday afternoon, but had looked in vain. O