character, I demanded a second opinion of--another person about whom I
had my conjectures, though they were the most tangled and puzzled
conjectures in the world. I would _make_ her speak. I shook her, I chid
her, I pinched her fingers when she tried to put me off with gibes and
jests in her queer provoking way, and at last out it came. The voice, I
say, was enough; hardly raised above a whisper, and yet such a soft
vehemence in its tones. There was no confession, no confidence, in the
matter. To these things she cannot condescend; but I am sure that man's
happiness is dear to her as her own life."

"Who is it?"

"I charged her with the fact. She did not deny, she did not avow, but
looked at me. I saw her eyes by the snow-gleam. It was quite enough. I
triumphed over her mercilessly."

"What right had _you_ to triumph? Do you mean to say _you_ are fancy
free?"

"Whatever _I_ am, Shirley is a bondswoman. Lioness, she has found her
captor. Mistress she may be of all round her, but her own mistress she
is not."

"So you exulted at recognizing a fellow-slave in one so fair and
imperial?"

"I did; Robert, you say right, in one so fair and imperial."

"You confess it--a _fellow_-slave?"

"I confess nothing; but I say that haughty Shirley is no more free than
was Hagar."

"And who, pray, is the Abraham, the hero of a patriarch who has achieved
such a conquest?"

"You still speak scornfully, and cynically, and sorely; but I will make
you change your note before I have done with you."

"We will see that. Can she marry this Cupidon?"

"Cupidon! he is just about as much a Cupidon as you are a Cyclops."

"Can she marry him?"

"You will see."

"I want to know his name, Cary."

"Guess it."

"Is it any one in this neighbourhood?"

"Yes, in Briarfield parish."

"Then it is some person unworthy of her. I don't know a soul in
Briarfield parish her equal."

"Guess."

"Impossible. I suppose she is under a delusion, and will plunge into
some absurdity, after all."

Caroline smiled.

"Do _you_ approve the choice?" asked Moore.

"Quite, _quite_."

"Then I _am_ puzzled; for the head which owns this bounteous fall of
hazel curls is an excellent little thinking machine, most accurate in
its working. It boasts a correct, steady judgment, inherited from
'mamma,' I suppose."

"And I _quite_ approve, and mamma was charmed."

"'Mamma' charmed--Mrs. Pryor! It can't be romantic, then?"

"It _is_ romantic, but it