"My own little Dooley! And I love you so,
so much. Now sit still there, darling, whilst I
talk to mamma."

Dooley was very willing to sit still with
Mabel's arms round him, and his head on her
breast, and he nestled close up to her.

"Dearest mamma, you. did not answer the
main point in my letter. I suppose you meant to
reply to it by word of mouth?"

Mrs. Saxelby held one of Mabel's hands in her
own, and was clasping and unclasping her fingers
round it nervously.

"Dear Mabel," she said, " I do hope you'Il
think better of it. I think it is an altogether
mistaken idea. And mind, Mabel! I do not
speak on my own unaided judgment."

"On whose, then, mamma?" asked Mabel,
with a flushed cheek.

"Ah, there, there, there. If you get angry,
Mabel, I cannot speak. I shall lose myself
directly."

"Not angry, mamma—not angry, but sorry.
Why should you not trust your own unaided
judgment? And who is there in the world
whose opinion I am bound to prefer to yours?"

"Mabel, you know that I cannot rely on my
own unaided judgment—I never could. And
this, besides, is a matter that requires
knowledge of the world and experience."

"Knowledge of what world? The world
that I wish to enter, you and I have already
some knowledge of. In this matter advisers
would probably be more ignorant and
inexperienced than we are. Mamma, are we to set
aside what we know—what we have proved—
in deference to the vague prejudices of other
people? Is it reasonable? Is it honest?"

Mabel pushed her hair back from her brow
with one hand as she spoke, and looked at her
mother with kindling eyes. The action had
been an habitual one with Mabel's father, and
for the moment Mrs. Saxelby seemed to see her
first husband's face before her.

"Mabel," she said, with an effort, "listen to
me. Don't suppose that I am insensible to the
dreariness of your present life. You remember
that I never wished you to accept this engagement.
The pay seemed to me too miserable,
and the work too trying. But it does not
follow that you should be tied to this drudgery
for life." Mrs. Saxelby recalled Clement's
words, and quoted them as accurately as she
could.

"To this drudgery, or to another drudgery
like to this. It matters very little," answered
Mabel. "It's not all for myself, mamma—not
even chiefly for myself—that I want to embrace
another career. But, after all, I am I. I
cannot be another person. This life is misery
to me."

Poor Mrs. Saxelby was terribly puzzled.
Her recipe had failed. She had taken advice,
and had administered the prescribed remedy to
the patient. But the patient tossed it on
one side, and would not be persuaded of its
virtues. Mrs. Saxelby began to feel rather
angry with Clement Charlewood. What was
his advice worth? She had followed it, and it
had produced no effect.

"My dearest mother, you say you have been
taking counsel with some one. With whom?"

"Well, Mabel, Mr. Clement Charlewood has
been speaking about your prospects, and——"

"Mr. Clement Charlewood! Surely you
have not been, taking counsel with him on this
matter!"

"Now, Mabel, Mabel, if you are violent it is
all over. Yes, I have been taking counsel—in
a measure—with Clement Charlewood. Why
should I not? He is very clever and very kind."

"Mamma, I am very sorry that you thought
fit to speak to him as to my future. However,
as it is done, it cannot be undone. But how
should Mr. Clement Charlewood be a more
competent judge than yourself of the course I
propose to follow? You cannot assert that
you have any real conviction that a theatrical
career implies a vile or a wicked life!"

"Oh, Mabel"

"I know, dear mother, that such words must
sound horribly false in your ears. But yet, that
and no other is the plain unvarnished meaning of
the people who would dissuade you from allowing
me to try it."

"No, no, no, Mabel; not necessarily that.
But there are risks, temptations——"

"Temptations! There may be temptations
anywhere, everywhere. Here in Eastfield, in
Mrs. Hatchett's house, do you know what
temptations assail me? No; happily you do
not; I would not harass you, and humiliate
myself, by writing them. But there is no kind of
petty meannesses, of small miserable cheatery,
which is not practised by Mrs. Hatchett. There
are temptations held out to me to be false in
fifty ways. To connive at over-charges in her
accounts, to lie, to cheat."

Mabel walked up and down the room with her
hands pressed tightly on her burning temples,
and the salt tears trembling in her eyes.

Mrs. Saxelby remained rocking herself to and
fro on the sofa, in a state of doubt and bewilderment.
With her, the latest speaker was almost
always right. And her daughter's influence was
fast obliterating the memory of Clement's words
of counsel. Suddenly Mabel stopped.

"Do you forbid me," said she, " to write to
my aunt?"

Mrs. Saxelby felt relieved. Here was at least
a concession that she felt herself at liberty to
make. Here was a respite—a putting off of any
final decision.

"Certainly you may write to your aunt,
Mabel. I never intended to forbid your doing
that. I am sure no one can have a higher
regard and respect for your aunt than I have.
You will see what she says. I believe she will
try to dissuade you from your scheme."

"Thanks, mamma. I will write to her.
You are not angry with me, my own mother?"

Mrs. Saxelby clasped her daughter in her arms,
and kissed her broad open brow again and again.

"I wish I could see you happy, my child,"
said the poor mother, wistfully.