stice, dashing
his hand down on his knee, "and she says 'No!' to all. The last was
to-day, from Major Thorn, and, my young lady takes and puts the stopper
upon it, as usual, without reference to me or her mother, without saying
with your leave or by your leave. She wants to be kept in her room for a
week upon bread and water, to bring her to her senses."

Mr. Carlyle glanced at Barbara. She was sitting meekly under the
infliction, her wet eyelashes falling on her flushed cheeks and shading
her eyes. The justice was heated enough, and had pushed his flaxen wig
nearly hind-part before, in the warmth of his argument.

"What did you say to her?" snapped the justice.

"Matrimony may not have charms for Barbara," replied Mr. Carlyle half
jokingly.

"Nothing does have charms for her that ought to have," growled Justice
Hare. "She's one of the contrary ones. By the way, though," hastily
resumed the justice, leaving the objectionable subject, as another
flashed across his memory, "they were coupling your name and matrimony
together, Carlyle, last night, at the Buck's Head."

A very perceptible tinge of red rose to the face of Mr. Carlyle, telling
of inward emotion, but his voice and manner betrayed none.

"Indeed," he carelessly said.

"Ah, you are a sly one; you are, Carlyle. Remember how sly you were over
your first----" marriage, Justice Hare was going to bring out, but it
suddenly occurred to him that all circumstances considered, it was not
precisely the topic to recall to Mr. Carlyle. So he stopped himself in
the utterance, coughed, and went on again. "There you go, over to
see Sir John Dobede, _not_ to see Sir John, but paying court to Miss
Dobede."

"So the Buck's Head was amusing itself with that!" good-naturedly
observed Mr. Carlyle. "Well, Miss Dobede is going to be married, and I
am drawing up the settlements."

"It's not she; she marries young Somerset; everybody knows that. It's
the other one, Louisa. A nice girl, Carlyle."

"Very," responded Mr. Carlyle, and it was all the answer he gave. The
justice, tired of sitting indoors, tired, perhaps, of extracting nothing
satisfactory from Mr. Carlyle, rose, shook himself, set his wig aright
before the chimney-glass, and quitted the house on his customary evening
visit to the Buck's Head. Barbara, who watched him down the path, saw
that he encountered someone who happened to be passing the gate. She
could not at first distinguish who it might be, nothing but a