imes known to take all the more advantage of him from having
needlessly feared him at first.

He said to Giles, "It is very evident now that I must marry. I owe it to
the mother of my children, and in fact to them."

Mrs. Brandon said this to Mrs. Walker when, the next day, these two
ladies met, and were alone together, excepting for the presence of St.
George Mortimer Brandon, which did not signify. "The house might have
been robbed," she continued, "and the children burnt in their beds."

"Giles told you this afterwards?"

"Yes."

Emily looked uncomfortable. "One never knows how men may discuss matters
when they are alone. I hope, if John ever asked advice of Giles, he
would not----"

Here a pause.

"He would not recommend any one in particular," said Dorothea, looking
down on her baby's face. "Oh no, I am certain he would not think of such
a thing. Besides, the idea that he had any one to suggest has, I know,
never entered his head."

This she said without looking at Emily, and in a matter-of-fact tone. If
one had discovered anything, and the other was aware of it, she could
still here at least feel perfectly safe. This sister of hers, even to
her own husband, would never speak.

"And that was all?"

"No; Giles said he gave him various ludicrous particulars, and repeated,
with such a sincere sigh, 'I must marry--it's a dire necessity!' that
Giles laughed, and so did he."

"Poor John!" said Emily, "there certainly was not much in his first
marriage to tempt him into a second. And so I suppose Giles encouraged
him, saying, as he often does, that he had never known any happiness
worth mentioning till he married."

"Yes, dear," said Dorothea, "and he answered, 'But you did not pitch
yourself into matrimony like a man taking a header into a fathomless
pool. You were in love, old fellow, and I am not. Why, I have not
decided yet on the lady!' He cannot mean, therefore, to marry forthwith,
Emily; besides, it must be the literal truth that he has not even half
unconsciously a real preference for any one, or he could not have talked
so openly to Giles. He does not even foresee any preference."

"But I hope to help him to a preference very soon," she thought, and
added aloud, "Dear, you will stay and dine with us?"

Emily replied that she could not, she was to dine with a neighbour; and
she shortly departed, in possession of the most imprudent speeches John
had ever made (for he was usually most reticent), an