"I dare say. He has a soft, loving heart. That isn't always a blessing.

It can give one a deal of suffering. And I hear you have all been making idols of these Tyrrel-Rawdons. Fred tells me they are as vulgar a lot as can be."

"Fred lies! Excuse me, grandmother--but the word suits and may stand.

Mr. Nicholas is pompous, and walks as slowly as if he had to carry the weight of his great fortune; but his manners are all right, and his wife and son are delightful. She is handsome, well dressed, and so good-hearted that her pretty county idioms are really charming. John Thomas is a man by himself--not handsome, but running over with good temper, and exceedingly clever and wide-awake. Many times I was forced to tell myself, John Thomas would make an ideal Squire of Rawdon."

"Why don't you marry him."

"He never asked me."

"What was the matter with the men?"

"He was already engaged to a very lovely young lady."

"I am glad she is a lady."

"She is also very clever. She has been to college and taken high honors, a thing I have not done."

"You might have done and overdone that caper; you were too sensible to try it. Well, I'm glad that part of the family is looking up. They had the right stuff in them, and it is a good thing for families to dwell together in unity. We have King David's word for that. My observation leads me to think it is far better for families to dwell apart, in unity. They seldom get along comfortably together."

Then Ethel related many pleasant, piquant scenes between the two families at Monk-Rawdon, and especially that one in which the room of the first Tyrrel had been opened and his likeness restored to its place in the family gallery. It touched the old lady to tears, and she murmured, "Poor lad! Poor lad! I wonder if he knows! I wonder if he knows!"

The crucial point of Ethel's revelations had not yet been revealed, but Madam was now in a gentle mood, and Ethel took the opportunity to introduce her to Tyrrel Rawdon. She was expecting and waiting for this topic, but stubbornly refused to give Ethel any help toward bringing it forward. At last, the girl felt a little anger at her pretended indifference, and said, "I suppose Fred Mostyn told you about Mr. Tyrrel Rawdon, of California?"

"Tyrrel Rawdon, of California! Pray, who may he be?"

"The son of Colonel Rawdon, of the United States Army."

"Oh, to be sure! Well, what of him?"

"I am going to marry him."

"I shall see about that."

"We were coming here together to see you, but before we left the steamer he got a telegram urging him to go at once to his father, who is very ill."

"I have not asked him to come and see me. Perhaps he will wait till I do so."

"If you are not going to love Tyrrel, you need not love me. I won't have you for a grandmother any longer."

"I did without you sixty years. I shall not live another twelve months, and I think I can manage to do without you for a granddaughter any longer."

"You cannot do without me. You would break your heart, and I should break mine." Whereupon Ethel began to cry with a pa.s.sion that quite gratified the old lady. She watched her a few moments, and then said gently:

"There now, that will do. When he comes to New York bring him to see me.

And don't name the man in the meantime. I won't talk about him till I've seen him. It isn't fair either way. Fred didn't like him."

"Fred likes no one but Dora Stanhope."

"Eh! What! Is that nonsense going on yet?"

Then Ethel described her last two interviews with Dora. She did this with scrupulous fidelity, making no suggestions that might prejudice the case. For she really wanted her grandmother's decision in order to frame her own conduct by it. Madam was not, however, in a hurry to give it.

"What do you think?" she asked Ethel.

"I have known Dora for many years; she has always told me everything."

"But nothing about Fred?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing to tell, perhaps?"

"Perhaps."

"Where does her excellent husband come in?"

"She says he is very kind to her in his way."

"And his way is to drag her over the world to see the cathedrals thereof, and to vary that pleasure with inspecting schools and reformatories and listening to great preachers. Upon my word, I feel sorry for the child! And I know all about such excellent people as the Stanhopes. I used to go to what they call 'a pleasant evening' with them. We sat around a big room lit with wax candles, and held improving conversation, or some one sang one or two of Mrs. Hemans' songs, like 'Pa.s.sing Away' or 'He Never Smiled Again.' Perhaps there was a comic recitation, at which no one laughed, and finally we had wine and hot water--they called it 'port negus'--and tongue sandwiches and caraway cakes. My dear Ethel, I yawn now when I think of those dreary evenings.

What must Dora have felt, right out of the maelstrom of New York's operas and theaters and dancing parties?"

"Still, Dora ought to try to feel some interest in the church affairs.

She says she does not care a hairpin for them, and Basil feels so hurt."

"I dare say he does, poor fellow! He thinks St. Jude's Kindergarten and sewing circles and missionary societies are the only joys in the world.

Right enough for Basil, but how about Dora?"

"They are his profession; she ought to feel an interest in them."

"Come now, look at the question sensibly. Did Dora's father bring his 'deals' and stock-jobbery home, and expect Dora and her mother to feel an interest in them? Do doctors tell their wives about their patients, and expect them to pay sympathizing visits? Does your father expect Ruth and yourself to listen to his cases and arguments, and visit his poor clients or make underclothing for them? Do men, in general, consider it a wife's place to interfere in their profession or business?"

"Clergymen are different."

"Not at all. Preaching and philanthropy is their business. They get so much a year for doing it. I don't believe St. Jude's pays Mrs. Stanhope a red cent. There now, and if she isn't paid, she's right not to work.

Amen to that!"

"Before she was married Dora said she felt a great interest in church work."

"I dare say she did. Marriage makes a deal of difference in a woman's likes and dislikes. Church work was courting-time before marriage; after marriage she had other opportunities."

"I think you might speak to Fred Mostyn----"

"I might, but it wouldn't be worth while. Be true to your friend as long as you can. In Yorkshire we stand by our friends, right or wrong, and we aren't too particular as to their being right. My father enjoyed justifying a man that everyone else was down on; and I've stood by many a woman n.o.body had a good word for. I was never sorry for doing it, either. I'll be going into a strange country soon, and I should not wonder if some of them that have gone there first will be ready to stand by me. We don't know what friends we'll be glad of there."

The dinner bell broke up this conversation, and Ethel during it told Madam about the cook and cooking at the Court and at Nicholas Rawdon's, where John Thomas had installed a French chef. Other domestic arrangements were discussed, and when the Judge called for his daughter at four o'clock, Madam vowed "she had spent one of the happiest days of her life."

"Ruth tells me," said the Judge, "that Dora Stanhope called for Ethel soon after she left home this morning. Ruth seems troubled at the continuance of this friendship. Have you spoken to your grandmother, Ethel, about Dora?"