. Copperhead began the new day, he began it with a very unwise
idea, quickly carried out, as unwise ideas generally are. Feeling that
he could make nothing of his son, he resolved to try what he could make
of Phoebe; a young woman, nay, a bit of a girl not more than twenty, and
a minister's daughter, brought up in reverence of the leading
member--any resistance on her part seemed really incredible. He could
not contemplate the idea of giving up all the cherished plans of his
life by a melodramatic renunciation of his son. To give up Clarence whom
he had trained to be the very apex and crowning point of his grandeur,
was intolerable to him. But Mr. Copperhead had heard before now of young
women, who, goaded to it, had been known to give up their lover rather
than let their lover suffer on their account, and if this had ever been
the case, surely it might be so in the present instance. Had he not the
comfort of the Beecham family in his hands? Could not he make the
Crescent Chapel too hot to hold them? Could he not awaken the fears of
scores of other fathers very unlikely to permit their favourite sons to
stray into the hands of pastors' daughters? There was nothing indeed to
be said against Mr. Beecham, but still it would be strange if Mr.
Copperhead, out and away the richest man in the community, could not
make the Crescent too hot to hold him. He went down the Lane from the
"George," where he had slept, quite early next morning, with this
purpose full in his head, and, as good luck (he thought) would have it,
found Phoebe, who had been restless all night with anxiety, and had got
up early, once more walking up and down the long garden-path, reflecting
over all that had happened, and wondering as to what might happen still.
What a piece of luck it was! He was accustomed to have fortune on his
side, and it seemed natural to him. He went up to her with scarcely a
pause for the usual salutations, and plunged at once into what he had to
say.

"Miss Phoebe, I am glad to find you alone. I wanted a word with you," he
said, "about the affair of last night. Why shouldn't you and I, the only
two sensible ones in the business, settle it between ourselves? Old
Tozer is an old ass, begging your pardon for saying so, and my son is a
fool--"

"I do not agree to either," said Phoebe gravely, "but never mind, I will
certainly hear what you have to say."

"What I have to say is this. I will never consent to let my son Clarence
marry y