coolly, and leave me in the dark. If you and
Noel came to some private arrangement together,
before he made his will—why not tell me? Why
set up a mystery between us, where no mystery
need be?"

"I won't have it, George!" cried the admiral,
angrily drumming on the table with the
nut-crackers. "You are trying to draw me like a
badger—but I won't be drawn! I'll make any
conditions I please; and I'll be accountable to
nobody for them, unless I like. It's quite bad
enough to have worries and responsibilities laid
on my unlucky shoulders that I never bargained
for—never mind what worries: they're not yours,
they're mine—without being questioned and
cross-questioned as if I was a witness in a box.
Here's a pretty fellow!" continued the admiral,
apostrophising his nephew in red-hot irritation,
and addressing himself to the dogs on the hearth-
rug, for want of a better audience. "Here's a
pretty fellow! He is asked to help himself to
two uncommonly comfortable things in their
way—a fortune and a wife—he is allowed six
months to get the wife in (we should have got
her, in the Navy, bag and baggage, in six days)
—he has a round dozen of nice girls, to my
certain knowledge, in one part of the country
and another, all at his disposal to choose from
and what does he do? He sits month after
month, with his lazy legs crossed before him;
he leaves the girls to pine on the stem; and he
bothers his uncle to know the reason why! I
pity the poor unfortunate women. Men were
made of flesh and blood—and plenty of it, too
—in my time. They're made of machinery, now."

"I can only repeat, sir, I am sorry to have
offended you," said George.

"Pooh! pooh! you needn't look at me in
that languishing way, if you are," retorted the
admiral. "Stick to your wine; and I'll forgive
you. Your good health, George. I'm glad to
see you again at St. Crux. Look at that plateful
of sponge-cakes! The cook has sent them
up in honour of your return. We can't hurt
her feelings, and we can't spoil our wine.
Here!"—The admiral tossed four sponge-cakes
in quick succession down the accommodating
throats of the dogs. "I am sorry, George," the
old gentleman gravely proceeded; "I am really
sorry, you haven't got your eye on one of those
nice girls. You don't know what a loss you're
inflicting on yourself—you don't know what
trouble and mortification you're causing me—by
this shilly-shally conduct of yours."

"If you would only allow me to explain
myself, sir, you would view my conduct in a
totally different light. I am ready to marry
tomorrow, if the lady will have me."

"The devil you are! So you have got a lady
in your eye, after all? Why, in Heaven's name,
couldn't you tell me so before? Never mind—
I'll forgive you everything now I know you have
laid your hand on a wife. Fill your glass again.
Here's her health in a bumper. By-the-by, who
is she?"

"I'll tell you directly, admiral. When we
began this conversation, I mentioned that I was
a little anxious——"

"She's not one of my round dozen of nice
girls—aha, Master George, I see that in your
face, already! Why are you anxious?"

"I am afraid you will disapprove of my choice,
sir."

"Don't beat about the bush! How the deuce
can I say whether I disapprove or not, if you
won't tell me who she is?"

"She is the eldest daughter of Andrew
Vanstone of Combe-Raven."

"Who!!!"

"Miss Vanstone, sir."

The admiral put down his glass of wine
untasted.

"You're right, George," he said. "I do
disapprove of your choice—strongly disapprove
of it."

"Is it the misfortune of her birth, sir, that
you object to?"

"God forbid! the misfortune of her birth is
not her fault, poor thing. You know, as well as I
do, George, what I object to."

"You object to her sister?"

"Certainly! The most liberal man alive might
object to her sister, I think."

"It's hard, sir, to make Miss Vanstone suffer
for her sister's faults."

"Faults, do you call them? You have a
mighty convenient memory, George, where
your own interests are concerned."

"Call them crimes, if you like, sir—I say
again, it's hard on Miss Vanstone. Miss
Vanstone's life is pure of all reproach. From first
to last, she has borne her hard lot with such
patience, and sweetness, and courage, as not one
woman in a thousand would have shown in her
place. Ask Miss Garth, who has known her
from childhood. Ask Mrs. Tyrrel, who blesses
the day when she came into the house——"

"Ask a fiddlestick's end! I beg your pardon,
George but you are enough to try the patience
of a saint. My good fellow, I don't deny Miss
Vanstone's virtues; I'll admit, if you like, she's
the best woman that ever put on a petticoat.
That is not the question——"

"Excuse me, admiral—it is the question, if
she is to be my wife."

"Hear me out, George; look at it from my
point of view, as well as your own. What did
your cousin Noel do? Your cousin Noel fell a
victim, poor fellow, to one of the vilest conspiracies
I ever heard of—and the prime mover of that
conspiracy was Miss Vanstone's damnable sister.
She deceived him in the most infamous manner;
and as soon as she was down for a handsome
legacy in his will, she had the poison ready to
take his life. That is the truth—we know it
from Mrs. Lecount, who found the bottle locked
up in her own room. If you marry Miss
Vanstone, you make this wretch your sister-in-law.
She becomes a member of our family. All the
disgrace of what she has done; all the