o you
remember it? It is not simply Irish. It's Irish steeped in brine. It's
pickled Irish!"

She feigned the bursting into tears of real vexation.

"You speak," said Cornelia contemptuously, "as if we had very humbly
bowed our heads to the infection."

"Papa making terms with us!" murmured Arabella.

"Pray, repeat his words."

Adela tossed her curls. "I will, as well as I can. I began by speaking of
Besworth cheerfully; saying, that if he really had no strong affection
for Brookfield, that would make him regret quitting it, we saw
innumerable advantages in the change of residence proposed.
Predilection,--not affection--that was what I said. He replied that
Besworth was a large place, and I pointed out that therein lay one of its
principal merits. I expected what would come. He alluded to the
possibility of our changing our condition. You know that idea haunts him.
I told him our opinion of the folly of the thing. I noticed that he grew
red in the face, and I said that of course marriage was a thing ordained,
but that we objected to being submerged in matrimony until we knew who
and what we were. I confess he did not make a bad reply, of its kind.
'You're like a youngster playing truant that he may gain knowledge.' What
do you think of it?"

"A smart piece of City-speech," was Arabella's remark: Cornelia placidly
observing, "Vulgarity never contains more than a minimum of the truth."

"I said," Adela went on, "Think as you will, papa, we know we are right."
He looked really angry. He said, that we have the absurdest ideas--you
tell me to repeat his words--of any girls that ever existed; and then he
put a question: listen: I give it without comment: 'I dare say, you all
object to widows marrying again.' I kept myself quiet. 'Marrying again,
papa! If they marry once they might as well marry a dozen times.' It was
the best way to irritate him. I did not intend it; that is all I can say.
He jumped from his chair, rubbed his hair, and almost ran up and down the
library floor, telling me that I prevaricated. 'You object to a widow
marrying at all--that's my question!' he cried out loud. Of course I
contained my voice all the more. 'Distinctly, papa.' When I had spoken, I
could scarcely help laughing. He went like a pony that is being broken
in, crying, I don't know how many times, 'Why? What's your reason?' You
may suppose, darlings, that I decline to enter upon explanation. If a
person is dense upon a matter of pure