'Yes, she did.'
'How can you say, then, that she disapproves of him?'
'I didn't mean to find fault with mamma. Perhaps it will come all right.'
'It will come all right.' But Bell, though she made this very satisfactory promise, was as well aware as either of the others that the family would be divided when Crosbie should have married Lily and taken her off to London.
On the following morning Mrs Dale and Bell were sitting together. Lily was above in her own room, either writing to her lover, or reading his letter, or thinking of him, or working for him. In some way she was employed on his behalf, and with this object she was alone. It was now the middle of October, and the fire was lit in Mrs Dale's drawing-room. The window which opened upon the lawn was closed, the heavy curtains had been put back in their places, and it had been acknowledged as an unwelcome fact that the last of the summer was over. This was always a sorrow to Mrs Dale; but it is one of those sorrows which hardly admit of open expression.
'Bell,' she said, looking up suddenly; 'there's your uncle at the window. Let him in.' For now, since the putting up of the curtains, the window had been bolted as well as closed. So Bell got up, and opened a passage for the squire's entrance. It was not often that he came down in this way, and when he did do so it was generally for some purpose which had been expressed before.
'What! fires already?' said he. 'I never have fires at the other house in the morning till the first of November. I like to see a spark in the grate after dinner.'
'I like a fire when I'm cold,' said Mrs Dale. But this was a subject on which the squire and his sister-in-law had differed before, and as Mr Dale had some business in hand, he did not now choose to waste his energy in supporting his own views on the question of fires.
'Bell, my dear,' said he, 'I want to speak to your mother for a minute or two on a matter of business. You wouldn't mind leaving us for a little while, would you?' Whereupon Bell collected up her work and went upstairs to her sister. 'Uncle Christopher is below with mamma,' said she, 'talking about business. I suppose it is something to do with your marriage.' But Bell was wrong. The squire's visit had no reference to Lily's marriage.
Mrs Dale did not move or speak a word when Bell was gone, though it was evident that the squire paused in order that she might ask some question of him. 'Mary,' said he, at last, 'I'll tell you what it is that I have come to say to you.' Whereupon she put the piece of needlework which was in her hands down upon the work-basket before her, and settled herself to listen to him.
'I wish to speak to you about Bell.'
'About Bell?' said Mrs Dale, as though much surprised that he should have anything to say to her respecting her eldest daughter.
'Yes, about Bell. Here's Lily going to be married, and it will be well that Bell should be married too.'
'I don't see that at all,' said Mrs Dale. 'I am by no means in a hurry to be rid of her.'
'No, I dare say not. But, of course, you only regard her welfare, and I can truly say that I do the same. There would be no necessity for hurry as to a marriage for her under ordinary circumstances, but there may be circumstances to make such a thing desirable, and I think that there are.' It was evident from the squire's tone and manner that he was very much in earnest; but it was also evident that he found some difficulty in opening out the budget with which he had prepared himself. He hesitated a little in his voice, and seemed to be almost nervous. Mrs Dale, with some little spice of ill-nature, altogether abstained from assisting him. She was jealous of interference from him about her girls, and though she was of course bound to listen to him, she did so with a prejudice against and almost with a resolve to oppose anything that he might say. When he had finished his little speech about circumstances, the squire paused again; but Mrs Dale still sat silent, with her eyes fixed upon his face.
'I love your children very dearly;' said he, 'though I believe you hardly give me credit for doing so.'
'I am sure you do,' said Mrs Dale, 'and they are both well aware of it.'
'And I am very anxious that they should be comfortably established in life. I have no children of my own, and those of my two brothers are everything to me.'
Mrs Dale had always considered it as a matter of course that Bernard should be the squire's heir, and had never felt that her daughters had any claim on that score. It was a well-understood thing in the family that the senior male Dale should have all the Dale property and all the Dale money. She fully recognised even the propriety of such an arrangement. But it seemed to her that the squire was almost
