bearing at one time, she turned the conversation
upon Sir Edward. He was the dearest
son—the best, the most unselfish, the most
affectionate of sons. So thoughtful for her;
so generous to his tenants; so staid and
methodical in his own personal expenses. I
could have asked Lady Singleton Miss
Thornton's celebrated question, " Where she
expected to go to for telling so many palpable
falsehoods?" but I did not; for, after all, she
is a woman whom one had better call friend
than enemy. I dare say she can slander as
well as she can flatter.

After our walk she had her carriage and
drove home to Deerhill, but only to return in
the evening to the ball. A great many more
people assembled for that than had come for
the breakfast. The scene was very gay, and
I really enjoyed it. My first ball—that was a
ball! I had partners enough; but Sir
Edward Singleton was the person who chose
to distinguish me the most—indeed, he never
danced with anybody else. His mother
incited him to the disagreeable exhibition, I
know; but if she thought that, because I am
young, I should be gratified by attracting
the attention of the chief person there, she
was lamentably mistaken. I hate to attract
any particular notice, and then Sir Edward is
not so intelligent or amusing as he would fain
appear. In fact, I was exceeding weary of
him. I wonder how all these people—
who lay themselves out to pay me so much
deference—would treat me if I lost Ferndell
to-morrow? In a very different style, indeed,
I am quite sure.

July the twenty-fourth.—This morning I
had a letter again from Herbert; it has
made me restless and unhappy. What can
he mean by saying I have not shown
confidence in him? Can it refer to Ferndell?
That is the only explanation I can discover.
It would have been better to tell him myself
when I was at Meadowlands, and I regret
now that I did not do so. The best way to
make amends will be to write at once and
confess—no easy matter!

August the first.—According to the post,
I might have had a letter from Herbert
yesterday morning, or again this morning, but
none has come. Perhaps he is away on one
of his business journeys, and has missed
mine. The Singletons—Sir Edward especially
—are very diligent in their visits at
Burnbank. I am as stiff and disagreeable as
I can be, because it is very easy to perceive
that he and his mother are laying vigorous
siege to Ferndell, and I by no means intend
the fortress should capitulate on any terms.
Grannie encourages them, and occasionally
throws out hints about the Clays; Cousin
Jane asks, satirically, after " the commercial
traveller" whenever I receive a letter, and
yesterday, feigning ignorance of what
Herbert is, she said, "Eleanor is your chosen a
sort of bagman, or packman, like Wandering
Willie, who comes to sell the damsels gowns
at the back-door? " I said he was what our
grandfather was, and her father is, a cotton-
spinner,—neither more nor less; and she held
her peace at once.

It is so silly to look at people's progenitors
instead of themselves. I never can clearly
understand on what principle it is done. I do
not pretend to undervalue having come of a
good stock, as the saying is. I should, for
instance, feel ashamed and angry to hear that
my great grandfather had been hanged for
sheep stealing; but I should feel just as
much ashamed and just as angry if I were
told that—standing in the class of gentlemen
—he had been shot in a duel for cheating at
play. Happily he was neither. He was a
decent mechanic—a West Riding of Yorkshire
man—very stubborn, very persevering,
and very honest—qualities that I hope he
has transmitted to his descendants. The
Clays are of just the same class. Old grand-
father Clay was a quarryman, and worked as
such in the neighbourhood of Stockbridge.
He married a beautiful factory-girl, and then
was himself engaged in one of the great mills.
For some improvement that he suggested in
the machinery, his master gave him a good
situation, and afterwards a share in the
business. He and his wife had a large and fine
family. All the sons are cotton-spinners, and
the three daughters—beautiful as their
mother—married cotton-spinners. In fact,
all the family is cotton. Herbert and Emily
have inherited the personal beauty and fine
moral character which raised their grand-
father and grandmother from a low to a high
position—yes, a high position! for even yet
the kindliness and liberality of the first Clays
are proverbial in Stockbridge, and the
present family inherit the respect they won.

Now, I cannot be persuaded that Herbert
Clay is not a better man and better gentleman
than Sir Edward Singleton, whose
father's baronetcy was an election bribe;
whose education was neglected at home, and
finished abroad amongst the worst company.
I suppose it would be a shame even to know
the life that young man has led since he
came into the property. I have heard it
hinted at years ago, when he wanted to
marry Mary Jane Curling, and I have not
forgotten it—I am glad I have not. I can
see very plainly—though I choose to appear
not to see—that even good old Grannie would
like me to marry Sir Edward Singleton
better than Herbert Clay. As if there was
anything in that man to win a girl's love! I
revolt from his idea; ever since his visits here
have become frequent, and their object
palpable, I have experienced a species of loathing
for him which is indescribable. I should
be very glad if he were never again to come
to Burnbank while we stay.

About the middle of September we move
to Ferndell. The preparations are being made
now. I wish I knew how Herbert received
the intelligence my last letter conveyed to him.