rie."

"Is it necessary?" he asked.

"I think it is."

"As far as I am concerned, I doubt the necessity. Miss Lawrie has
said a word to me,--as much, I presume, as she feels to be
necessary."

"I do not think that her feeling in the matter should be a guide for
you or for me. What we have both of us to do is to think what may be
best for her, and to effect that as far as may be within our power."

"Certainly," said Mr Whittlestaff. "But it may so probably be the
case that you and I shall differ materially as to thinking what may
be best for her. As far as I understand the matter, you wish that she
should be your wife. I wish that she should be mine. I think that as
my wife she would live a happier life than she could do as yours; and
as she thinks also--" Here Mr Whittlestaff paused.

"But does she think so?"

"You heard what she said just now."

"I heard nothing as to her thoughts of living," said John Gordon "Nor
in the interview which I had with her yesterday did I hear a word
fall from her as to herself. We have got to form our ideas as to that
from circumstances which shall certainly not be made to appear by her
own speech. When you speak against me--"

"I have not said a word against you, sir."

"Perhaps you imply," said Gordon, not stopping to notice Mr
Whittlestaff's last angry tone,--"perhaps you imply that my life may
be that of a rover, and as such would not conduce to Miss Lawrie's
happiness."

"I have implied nothing."

"To suit her wishes I would remain altogether in England. I was very
lucky, and am not a man greedy of great wealth. She can remain here,
and I will satisfy you that there shall be enough for our joint
maintenance."

"What do I care for your maintenance, or what does she? Do you know,
sir, that you are talking to me about a lady whom I intend to make my
wife,--who is engaged to marry me? Goodness gracious me!"

"I own, sir, that it is singular."

"Very singular,--very singular indeed. I never heard of such a thing.
It seems that you knew her at Norwich."

"I did know her well."

"And then you went away and deserted her."

"I went away, Mr Whittlestaff, because I was poor. I was told by her
step-mother that I was not wanted about the house, because I had no
means. That was true, and as I loved her dearly, I started at once,
almost in despair, but still with something of hope,--with a shade of
hope,--that I might put myself in the way of enabling her to become
my wife