He Knew He Was Right

she would be able to ask for counsel from the only human being to whom she could have brought herself to confide the fact that a gentleman was expected to ask her to marry him. But it was not till they had turned upon their walk, that she was able to open her mouth on the subject even to her sister. Priscilla had been very full of their own cares at Nuncombe, and had said much of her determination to leave the Clock House and to return to the retirement of some small cottage. She had already written to Hugh to this effect, and during their walk had said much of her own folly in having consented to so great a change in their mode of life. At last Dorothy struck in with her story.

“Aunt Stanbury wants me to make a change too.”

“What change?” asked Priscilla anxiously.

“It is not my idea, Priscilla, and I don’t think that there can be anything in it. Indeed, I’m sure there isn’t. I don’t see how it’s possible that there should be.”

“But what is it, Dolly?”

“I suppose there can’t be any harm in my telling you.”

“If it’s anything concerning yourself, I should say not. If it concerns Aunt Stanbury, I dare say she’d rather you held your tongue.”

“It concerns me most,” said Dorothy.

“She doesn’t want you to leave her, does she?”

“Well; yes; no. By what she said last⁠—I shouldn’t leave her at all in that way. Only I’m sure it’s not possible.”

“I am the worst hand in the world, Dolly, at guessing a riddle.”

“You’ve heard of that Mr. Gibson, the clergyman;⁠—haven’t you?”

“Of course I have.”

“Well⁠—. Mind, you know, it’s only what Aunt Stanbury says. He has never so much as opened his lips to me himself, except to say, ‘How do you do?’ and that kind of thing.”

“Aunt Stanbury wants you to marry him?”

“Yes!”

“Well?”

“Of course it’s out of the question,” said Dorothy, sadly.

“I don’t see why it should be out of the question,” said Priscilla proudly. “Indeed, if Aunt Stanbury has said much about it, I should say that Mr. Gibson himself must have spoken to her.”

“Do you think he has?”

“I do not believe that my aunt would raise false hopes,” said Priscilla.

“But I haven’t any hopes. That is to say, I had never thought about such a thing.”

“But you think about it now, Dolly?”

“I should never have dreamed about it, only for Aunt Stanbury.”

“But, dearest, you are dreaming of it now, are you not?”

“Only because she says that it is to be so. You don’t know how generous she is. She says that if it should be so, she will give me ever so much money;⁠—two thousand pounds!”

“Then I am quite sure that she and Mr. Gibson must understand each other.”

“Of course,” said Dorothy, sadly, “if he were to think of such a thing at all, it would only be because the money would be convenient.”

“Not at all,” said Priscilla, sternly⁠—with a sternness that was very comfortable to her listener. “Not at all. Why should not Mr. Gibson love you as well as any man ever loved any woman? You are nice-looking,”⁠—Dorothy blushed beneath her hat even at her sister’s praise⁠—“and good-tempered, and lovable in every way. And I think you are just fitted to make a good wife. And you must not suppose, Dolly, that because Mr. Gibson wouldn’t perhaps have asked you without the money, that therefore he is mercenary. It so often happens that a gentleman can’t marry unless the lady has some money!”

“But he hasn’t asked me at all.”

“I suppose he will, dear.”

“I only know what Aunt Stanbury says.”

“You may be sure that he will ask you.”

“And what must I say, Priscilla?”

“What must you say? Nobody can tell you that, dear, but yourself. Do you like him?”

“I don’t dislike him.”

“Is that all?”

“I know him so very little, Priscilla. Everybody says he is very good;⁠—and then it’s a great thing, isn’t it, that he should be a clergyman?”

“I don’t know about that.”

“I think it is. If it were possible that I should ever marry anyone, I should like a clergyman so much the best.”

“Then you do know what to say to him.”

“No, I don’t, Priscilla. I don’t know at all.”

“Look here, dearest. What my aunt offers to you is a very great step in life. If you can accept this gentleman I think you would be happy;⁠—and I think, also, which should be of more importance for your consideration, that you would make him happy. It is a brighter prospect, dear Dolly, than to live either with us at Nuncombe, or even with Aunt Stanbury as her niece.”

“But if I don’t love him, Priscilla?”

“Then give it up, and be as you are, my own own, dearest sister.”

“So I will,” said Dorothy, and at that time her mind was made up.

XXXI

Mr. Brooke Burgess

The hour at which Mr. Brooke Burgess was to arrive had come round, and Miss Stanbury was in a twitter, partly of expectation, and partly, it must be confessed, of fear. Why there should be any fear she did not herself know, as she had much to give and nothing to expect. But she was afraid, and was conscious of it, and was out of temper because she was ashamed of herself. Although it would be necessary that she should again dress for dinner at six, she had put on a clean cap at four, and appeared at that early hour in one of her gowns which was not customarily in use for home purposes at that early hour. She felt that she was “an old fool” for her pains, and was consequently cross to poor Dorothy. And there were other reasons for some display of harshness to her niece. Mr. Gibson had been at the house that very morning, and Dorothy had given herself airs. At least, so Miss Stanbury thought. And during the last three or four days, whenever Mr. Gibson’s name had been mentioned, Dorothy had become silent, glum,