last became so depressing that, with a natural
epicurean instinct, she tried violently to turn her mind away from them.
Luckily she was assisted by a sudden perception of the roof and chimneys
of Burwood, the Leyburns' house, peeping above the trees to the left. At
sight of them a smile overspread her plump and gently wrinkled face. She
fell gradually into a train of thought, as feminine as that in which she
had been just indulging, but infinitely more pleasing.

For, with regard to the Leyburns, at this present moment Mrs. Thornburgh
felt herself in the great position of tutelary divinity or guardian
angel. At least if divinities and guardian angels do not concern
themselves with the questions to which Mrs. Thornburgh's mind was now
addressed, it would clearly have been the opinion of the vicar's wife
that they ought to do so.

'Who else is there to look after these girls, I should like to know,'
Mrs. Thornburgh inquired of herself, 'if I don't do it? As if girls
married themselves! People may talk of their independence nowadays as
much as they like--it always has to be done for them, one way or
another. Mrs. Leyburn, poor lackadaisical thing! is no good whatever. No
more is Catherine. They both behave as if husbands tumbled into your
mouth for the asking. Catherine's too good for this world--but if she
doesn't do it, I must. Why, that girl Rose is a beauty--if they didn't
let her wear those ridiculous mustard-coloured things, and do her hair
fit to frighten the crows! Agnes too--so lady-like and well-mannered;
she'd do credit to any man. Well, we shall see, we shall see!'

And Mrs. Thornburgh gently shook her gray curls from side to side, while
her eyes, fixed on the open spare room window, shone with meaning.

'So eligible, too--private means, no encumbrances, and as good as gold.'

She sat lost a moment in a pleasing dream.

'Shall I bring oot the tea to you theer, mum?' called Sarah gruffly,
from the garden door. 'Master and Mr. Elsmere are just coomin' down t'
field by t' stepping-stones.'

Mrs. Thornburgh signalled assent and the tea-table was brought.
Afternoon tea was by no means a regular institution at the vicarage of
Long Whindale, and Sarah never supplied it without signs of protest. But
when a guest was in the house Mrs. Thornburgh insisted upon it; her
obstinacy in the matter, like her dreams of cakes and confections, being
all part of her determination to move with the times, in spite of the
stat