"It was fine," said their father, using his stick
with feeling. 'I like this sort of thing. I do,
now. I feel better for it afterwards. During
all the week we may have done this, that, and
t'other. God Almighty knows I don't set up for
a saint—never did, and never shall. I hate your
canting fellows. But when I am sitting there,
in that old place, of a Sunday morning, with all
of us round, worshipping our common Maker, I
feel the better for it—all the better for it."

He certainly did feel better, or ought to feel
so, considering what Mr. Tillotson had seen of
him during the sermon.

"Why couldn't he cut it shorter?" said Mr.
Spring, irreverently;—"the man that preached."

"Lord Rooksby's brother," interposed Mr.
Tilney, softly, as a sort of caution, and looking
round.

Miss Augusta, laughing and blushing, and
saying "Oh" very often, said he was "dreadful,"
and "shocking," and, she feared, "wicked."

Looking back, Mr. Tillotson saw the third
girl following by herself. She seemed to him to
be the gentle Cinderella of the family. In a
moment he had dropped behind to join her: a
step that did not attract much notice then, as
Major Canby, whose arrival had been reported
yesterday, was just met with and stopped on the
highway. During the voluble and almost
vociferous greetings that welcomed this officer's
return, Mr. Tillotson was speaking to Miss
Millwood.

"I watched you during that very long sermon,"
he said. "You were rapt in the dean's
eloquence."

"I don't know," she answered. " I think not.
I am afraid not. I was thinking of many other
things, I am afraid."

Her face had lighted up as he approached her.
Perhaps she felt that here was a friend who
inclined kindly towards her, in this family where
she had relations but no friends.

"But you cannot have much to think of," he
said, " at your age, in this retired and picturesque
place, which is one of the quiet streets of the
world——"

"Ah, you cannot tell," she said, sadly and
significantly.

Up came Mr. Tilney. "Tillotson," he said,
"mind you dine with us! Doctor Topham,
Canby, and one or two more have promised to
come, in the kindest way. Only a joint, I give
you warning; but done well, my friend. I'll
guarantee you that. And prime meat, too.
Choose my own, and market for myself. No, no,
no. No excuse, my friend."

They were close to the house now, and saw
Mr. Ross leaning against the gate, smoking his
short pipe. He watched them narrowly as they
came up.

"Here are the holy ones come home to the
heathen," he said. "What a time you have
been! Do you know, I have been waiting here
ever so long?" This he seemed to speak to
Ada.

"It had been really better, Ross, if you had
been with us at the cathedral," said Mr. Tilney—
"far better; really, on Sunday, one day in the
week only—where we had an excellent practical
sermon from Doctor Ridley——"

"Let him prose away till he is sick," said
Ensign Ross, "for those who choose to go and
hear him. I want to speak to you, Ada." And
with an imperious nod he summoned her over to
one side. After the nod came a kind of insolent
glance at Mr. Tillotson.

They were still at the gate. Mr. Tilney explaining,
as it were, mysteriously to Mr. Tillotson:
"Rather ill-conditioned, you see, but we bear
with him. He is greatly to be pitied. He is
always in and out of the house, like a dog, a
tame dog, sir. Brought up with the girls, you
know."

"I think," Mr. Tillotson said, looking over a
little anxiously to where Mr. Ross was showing
Ada a letter, "he likes Miss Millwood, does he
not?"

"Perhaps so. Cousins, you know. I dare say
he has thought of them all round. Augusta for
a month, then her sister, then that—er—girl Ada.
Bless you, not one of them would look at him,
not even that Ada there. The man's next door to
a pauper."

"But if he should win his lawsuit?"

"Ah!" said the other, grimly, "then I dare
say, Augusta—there's no knowing."

"Why not Miss Millwood?"

"Oh, out of the question. As for poor Ada,
she has other things to think of. I don't know
what we shall do with her. What to put
her to."

"Put her to?" said Mr. Tillotson, in astonishment.

"She must do—er—something, you see.
Augusta and her sister have portions left
them by their good aunt, but she——I don't
know what we can do with her, really. But as
for Ross there, if she has any feeling at all
in the matter, she dislikes the man, and no
wonder."

Then Mr. Tilney dwelt (with his stick) on the
praises and charms of his own regular daughters,
he said, who had portions. Their great charm
was the love of home, and taste for domestic
pursuits, never caring, he said, to go outside the
door.

Mr. Tillotson got away from him, back to the
White Hart, under solemn pledges to return at
seven o'clock and "cut his mutton." From
its windows he ruminated gloomily on the
dull streets, which, though clean, looked forlorn
and wretched. "Why did I promise to go to
this man?" he thought. "I have no business
with him, or with such company. I am wholly
out of place there." So he was, indeed. "This
poor place, too, is not the place for business,
I can see that with a glance. They are the
dead alive here—much as I am myself. I think
I will write to Mr. Tilney, and excuse myself
by a headache, and go up to-morrow night."