only she could think of welfare in no
other shape than marriage.

The discussion of the dress that Gwendolen was to wear at the Archery
Meeting was a relevant topic, however; and when it had been decided
that as a touch of color on her white cashmere, nothing, for her
complexion, was comparable to pale green--a feather which she was
trying in her hat before the looking-glass having settled the
question--Mrs. Davilow felt her ears tingle when Gwendolen, suddenly
throwing herself into the attitude of drawing her bow, said with a look
of comic enjoyment--

"How I pity all the other girls at the Archery Meeting--all thinking of
Mr. Grandcourt! And they have not a shadow of a chance."

Mrs. Davilow had not the presence of mind to answer immediately, and
Gwendolen turned round quickly toward her, saying, wickedly--

"Now you know they have not, mamma. You and my uncle and aunt--you all
intend him to fall in love with me."

Mrs. Davilow, piqued into a little stratagem, said, "Oh, my, dear, that
is not so certain. Miss Arrowpoint has charms which you have not."

"I know, but they demand thought. My arrow will pierce him before he
has time for thought. He will declare himself my slave--I shall send
him round the world to bring me back the wedding ring of a happy
woman--in the meantime all the men who are between him and the title
will die of different diseases--he will come back Lord Grandcourt--but
without the ring--and fall at my feet. I shall laugh at him--he will
rise in resentment--I shall laugh more--he will call for his steed and
ride to Quetcham, where he will find Miss Arrowpoint just married to a
needy musician, Mrs. Arrowpoint tearing her cap off, and Mr. Arrowpoint
standing by. Exit Lord Grandcourt, who returns to Diplow, and, like M.
Jabot, _change de linge_."

Was ever any young witch like this? You thought of hiding things from
her--sat upon your secret and looked innocent, and all the while she
knew by the corner of your eye that it was exactly five pounds ten you
were sitting on! As well turn the key to keep out the damp! It was
probable that by dint of divination she already knew more than any one
else did of Mr. Grandcourt. That idea in Mrs. Davilow's mind prompted
the sort of question which often comes without any other apparent
reason than the faculty of speech and the not knowing what to do with
it.

"Why, what kind of a man do you imagine him to be, Gwendolen?"

"Let me see!" said the witch, put